The Best Thing
by fayellen
Summary: Santana's Father seems like a careless man. But Brittany? She was the best thing. Inspired by Santana singing Brittany "Mine" in 4x04, this is the story of Santana's childhood and adolescence, focusing on the complex relationship she has with her family.
1. Goodbye

The only solid memory of my father I have before age six is the one where he's leaving. I was far too young to understand the logistics of divorce or the reasons behind my parent's, and in all honesty I've never asked. I've become kind of apathetic to the situation. Like it or not my father left me – that's all there is to it.

It was a hot July day and I'd spent the last 2 weeks listening to my parents argue while I played with my dolls in the yard. I'd make them have families of their own using cotton reals as the babies. The Mamis would stay home and look after their kids while the Papis went to find jobs just like in my own family. Our house was relatively small and I would listen to my parent's voices drifting out of the open back door on the haze of heat that accompanies a Lima summer. Everything had gone quiet approximately 3 days ago. That's the day my father packed a bag and left the house. He didn't even tell me he was leaving. For 3 days I had sat with my dolls in the backyard – too afraid to ask where Papi was. I was scared that he wouldn't be coming back.

Somewhere behind me, the doorbell rang and I heard the chatter of voices. I rose to my feet and moved, waif like through the screen door and into the kitchen. To me the kitchen seemed enormous, although my mother has told me a thousand times since that, "that house was a hole Santana! There was barely room to move". I'm sure if I went back now I would see things differently. I crept through the kitchen and hung at the corner of the arch into the living room. And there he was, my Papi. Re-appeared like some kind of ghost.

"Please", he said, "she's my daughter".

"Fat lot of good that'll do her when you're in Seattle", retorted my mother. Seattle? What was a Seattle?

"I just want to say goodbye. To explain to her. She's a smart kid-"

I didn't like this. I didn't like this at all. Goodbye? Why would Papi be saying goodbye? Maybe he really wasn't coming back. To stop all this nonsense talk I launched myself into the room, hitting into Papi so hard he stopped talking.

"Hola Mija," he said eventually, leaning to plant kisses all over my face. I remember the scratchy feeling of his beard and the way he smelled like not-Papi. Like he'd spent too much time somewhere else, using someone else's shampoo and laundry detergent.

"Hola Papi," I said extracting myself from him so I could look at him and try to locate the odd smell and feeling of not-Papi coming off him.

"How about you and me go to the park mija, we can get ice cream if you want?"

I remember my mother looking stern and my father arguing with her some more with me clinging on to his hand. The short walk to the play park down the block but there was no ice cream truck. That was something my father did a lot of from then on. Offer me things he couldn't deliver on. I remember him pushing me on the swings and pretending to be a lion when I slid down the tube-y slide so that he'd scare me when I came out. I remember the golden colour of his eyes reflecting the setting sun.

"Santana baby, come and sit down a minute, Papi's tired."

I plonked myself down on the bench, out of breath and flushed from my excursions. In my memories this is the most alive I feel. A kid, carefree, with her heartbeat only inches beneath her skin.

"Are you coming home soon?" I asked. The innocent question tumbled of my lips, full of hope and love. I watched as Papi turned his face from me, and then he looked back, a smile brimming on his face.

"Actually, I'm going on an adventure Santana. I'm going to move to Seattle, a hospital there wants me to work for them".

"Can I come?" I liked the sound of an adventure but only if it involved me.

"Mami wants you to live with her, here".

But don't you want me to live with you? But you and Mami are married, how come we don't all go? But I want to go on the adventure too. But-

"You can come and visit me, when things are a little more settled"

How long would that be? 3 more days? Or longer? 3 days is an eternity when you're six.

Turns out 3 days was a little bit of an underestimation on my part. 3 days after my father left I was crying in the back yard, collecting up the dolls and the cottons reels and dumping them in a box to go beneath my bed. It was almost six months before I saw my father again and even then I didn't get to go on an adventure. He came back to the Lima suburb where he and my mother had made their home and told me about all the things he'd seen in Seattle. As he left I told him I wanted to go with him but he handed me kicking and screaming back to my mother.

* * *

It continued this way for a while: my father turned up for special occasions, school shows, birthdays, Christmas, and then he'd hand me back to my mother and I'd watch the taxi drive him away again. Eventually his visits to Lima turned into my own to Seattle. My mother would drive me to the airport and hand me over to a woman with a plastic-cy smile and a voice like honey and I'd spend the hours colouring in pictures that my father would stick on his refrigerator when we reached Seattle. We'd go on ferry-boat rides and to circuses. If there was an emergency at the hospital he would dump me at the nurse's station or beg one of the candy stripers to take me to the cafeteria where I would sulk, feeling cheated that someone else got to spend time with my Papi when this was supposed to be our adventure. Eventually he'd drop me back off at the airport, into the arms of another Barbie-doll air hostess, with a look of slight relief on his face and a per functionary kiss on the forehead. Somehow in the time we spent apart he forgot to be a Papi and simply became a Father instead. Somewhere along the way, I guess I stopped being his little girl too.

* * *

Maybe I was stupid as a kid, to think that my father didn't love me or didn't want me, but when someone you love leaves you like that you don't have much cause to believe otherwise. My Father's leaving changed me. Moulded me. Made me believe there was something truly defective with me that made me un-loveable. But that's the thing about love. It's hard. It's tricky. It exists in a thousand different dimensions and refuses to abide to the normal laws of physics or time. Just when you think you've lost it, you'll turn around and it'll be staring you right in the face. I've never had a great example - maybe that's why it took me so long to get it right with Britt - but I know now, that even though he's the one who lay the first blades to my heart, my father would walk to the ends of the earth for me.


	2. Lies and Her Eyes

**Authors Note: I'm really excited that people are actually reading this! I'm sorry that this chapters quite long and no Brittany till the very end again, but I promise there will be more of her in future chapters and this will turn into a Brittana Fanfic. There's just a lot of back story in my brain :) **

I met "Uncle Kyle" when I was nine years old. My mother bought him home with a ring on her finger and a smile on her face like I'd never seen before. I remember thinking that she must be the prettiest lady in the whole world. She looked happy, which isn't something I'd seen much on her before or since.

Uncle Kyle was tall and foreboding with hair the colour of a tree trunk and eyes like mud. By that age I knew all about sex having secretly hung on to every word the boys in my class said as we swung upside down from the climbing frame or pasted glitter onto cards. Once, the previous winter break I'd even stumbled across a discarded play-boy in my father's apartment while he'd dashed out to the grocery store across the street. I'd debated stealing the magazine and seeing how much I could sell it for on the playground, but after a few minutes of staring at one image I closed it and placed it carefully back into the drawer it had come from, feeling as though I'd seen something I shouldn't. Anyway, my point is, Uncle Kyle wasn't good looking in any way. After a few weeks I also realised he was neither funny, nor clever, nor charming either. Before my father visited, the best I could have said in Kyle's favour was that he would let me go to the play park even if he wouldn't volunteer to push me on the swings. He was amicable.

* * *

One day, the spring I turned 10, my father came to visit. He arrived on the doorstep of our little yellow house looking tired and grizzly and when he spoke his voice sounded like grit. He said he'd had a busy few days at the hospital and was tired and he'd have to run tomorrow morning so I'd better make the most of him. While I dashed upstairs to grab a few things for the night I'd spend at his hotel he talked to my mom, exchanging pleasantries the way they used to swap kisses before saying goodnight.

I bounded back down the stairs a few minutes later and wedged myself solidly into the void of space between my parents, positioning myself to face my mother.

"You ready sweetie?" said my father, rubbing a spot on my shoulder.

"Yep. Let's go! See you Mom," I chattered, anxious to get moving. Time was limited after all.

"Charming," said my mother, rolling her eyes, "have fun you two, she'll be back tomorrow right, Carlos?"

"Yeah, my flight's at noon so…" Papi trailed off. Noon tomorrow. And it was already 10:30 today. My little mind busily calculated the exact number of hours until he had to leave again so that I almost missed what he said next. "Bye Maribel – and, congratulations."

I was young but I didn't miss the hint of grief mingled with that last comment. Choosing to ignore it, I tugged on my father's hand and lead him to the rented car in our driveway, already debating where I'd ask him to take me first. The best thing about my father being in town, apart from the fact we were together, was the fact that no hospital emergency could change a plane ticket. So whatever we did, we saw it through. I chose roller skating at the park, then Papi chose Breadstix for lunch. He shoved two breadsticks into the corners of his mouth and pretended to be a walrus until I ended up giggling and blushing, telling him to "quit being embarrassing". Afterwards, he took me to the library which I deemed lame, but I let him read me books about Pirates and Princesses. I ran my fingers over the wedding scenes in the story books, looking at the blushing brides and wondering what my mother would look like decked out in white.

When he came to town, my father always stayed in the same hotel. It was large and corporate, situated in the centre of Lima. It was one of those places where if you took kids into the dining room, the other diners tended to shoot you snotty looks - even if your kids were the definition of perfect. So, before we returned to the hotel, my father pulled up outside a Chinese restaurant and ordered takeout, and while he waited for it to cook, he sent me to the DVD rental shop down the street where I picked out "The Beauty and the Beast". Back in his hotel room, we spread our findings across the bed and divided up the prawn crackers and spring rolls before he stuck the DVD in to play. We watched the movie play out in silence and I occasionally snuck glances to see if my father was still paying attention or if he'd fallen asleep. Surprisingly, he stayed awake the whole way through, and by the time the credits rolled across the screen I was yawning.

"You ready for bed Santana, baby?"

"No," I denied, not wanting to spend a second sleeping when I could be awake with him. "Can we order ice cream?"

"Sure" he said, reaching over to peruse the in room menu. "Let me guess…? Mint chocolate chip."

"Actually, I like raspberry now," I corrected.

"Huh," he puffed, reaching over to dial, and I saw his brow furrow as he logged this new information about me. "Go put your pjs on while we wait," he commanded.

When I returned from the bathroom, donned in pink, the ½ pint of ice cream sat on the bed by my father. I clambered up and sat cross legged opposite him and we took turns quietly taking alternate spoonfuls.

"So, I hear your mom's getting married," said Papi, swirling his tongue over his spoon.

"Uh-huh"

"He nice? This guy, do you like him?"

"He's okay," I mumbled, through a spoonful of ice cream. I chanced a darted look up to his face which was solemn and I suddenly wished he hadn't brought this up. "He smells funny sometimes," I elaborated. It was something I had noticed about Kyle. That sometimes, when mom brought him home late he smelled really bad the next morning. One night I'd woken up to hear a loud banging on the door and stumbled out of bed to find my mother trying to soothe Kyle who looked up at me with something a kin to anger in his eyes. When my mother noticed what he'd been staring at over her shoulder, she'd rushed me back to bed. "He's not like you." I finished, looking down to focus intently on my spoon again so that I wouldn't cry.

There was a long pause. I could feel my father's gaze on me.

"Santana, honey," he began, and I could almost feel the lecture coming on, "your mother and I, we wanted different things" (_yeah_ I thought, _and neither of you wanted me_) "We just weren't right for one another, you can understand that right? As much as I'd love to see you all the time, things are more complicated than that. There are some things that will always stand in the way."

He paused letting that sink in a moment, and I blinked rapidly downwards, a million questions fighting their way to my lips. It didn't seem all that complicated to me. People got married because they loved each other. They made vows saying they'd love each other until they died and they were supposed to stick to them, no matter how "complicated" things were. So in the end I asked the only question that could possibly help me make sense of this:

"Did you love her?"

"Very much," he said.

"Liar," I whispered, so quietly I could barely even hear myself.

* * *

When my father dropped me off at the little yellow house in Lima heights adjacent at 10 the next morning, I didn't know what to think of him anymore. After our conversation last night, we'd finished the ice cream in silence and then he'd tucked me in to bed and pulled out his laptop to work. There were so many thoughts buzzing in my head that I couldn't sleep for a long time: _How could my father claim to have loved my mother and still have left her? What things were so big and so complicated they stopped him from coming back? To me _and_ to my mother? Did Papi still love her? If not, how could you just stop loving someone? Did he still love me? _By the time I drifted to sleep I was no closer to answering any of my questions than I was to completing a round the world tour in a tuk-tuk. In other words I was still thoroughly confused, feeling less like I knew my father by the minute.

I pushed open the glass panelled door and headed through the living room to find my mother, while Papi paused to put my stuff at the base of the stairs. At the little round table in the kitchen I was kind of surprised to find Kyle looking bleary eyed as my mother handed him a cup of coffee.

"Look who's here," he said, somewhat hostile. He was always cranky on mornings and I usually tried to stay out of his way but it seemed this morning there was no getting off lightly. "You have a nice time with your pa, kiddo?"

I nodded feeling a lump rise and block my throat so I couldn't speak. Suddenly Kyle stood up and moved quickly towards me.

"I said 'DID YOU HAVE A NICE TIME" DAMMIT".

I reeled backwards and thankfully found reassuring hands behind me as Papi appeared in the doorway. Kyle looked up at him and his features danced as though he knew he was in trouble. He jutted his chin out and turned back to my mother, "You should teach your kid some manners. Speak when spoken to and all that." He nodded as though agreeing with himself.

"Excuse me," interjected Papi, "I'm afraid we haven't met. I'm Carlos, Santana's Father."

He offered his hand to Kyle who ignored it pointedly. "So I see."

Papi's features hardened and he looked Kyle up and down, evaluating him. "I don't care for the way you were speaking to my daughter there." He sounded menacing. "You could show a little more respect to her mother too."

"You're trying to tell me how I can speak to my woman? If you wanted to do that maybe you should have stayed married to her. And that kid? I don't really care for her but soon she'll be living in my home, eating up my pay checks and for what? She's not mine. She's just your bastard child that you don't even care enough about to show up once in a while. Maybe she should stop being so rude and show _me_ some respect and we could all live a little more harmoniously."

"Kyle-" my mother cautioned from her seat at the table.

"That's my kid you're talking about," my father cut across her as he pushed me out of the way to get closer to Kyle, "I won't have you saying things like that about her. She was brought up in a proper way-"

"How would you know? Not like you were around to see." Kyle chided. "Not like you gave a damn."

My father's fists curled into balls and I saw his shoulders heave as though he was breathing deeply. I looked past him to my mother who had her hands caught over her mouth and eyes wide like a dear caught in the headlights. Kyle leant in close to my father, so that his mouth was near his ear and then said something very quietly that I didn't hear. Leaning back he gave a hard laugh, that didn't sound like laughing at all. It turned manic bouncing of the walls and later, much later the sides of my brain. The sound was humourless. Harsh. Void of emotion. I watched my father who was being blatantly mocked by this man who he did not know. He was unmoving, stoic. I wondered what Kyle had said. Kyle's laugh stopped suddenly and the silence seemed to echo forever.

"Carlos," my mother finally spoke, "I think you should go."

I half expected Papi to say no, that he wasn't leaving, that he'd stay here if it meant that Kyle wouldn't be so cranky or say such mean things about me. But maybe what Kyle said was true because Papi just looked over at my mom then, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead and whispering that he'd mail my birthday present soon, he left. Like always. I added to my new mental list of questionable things about my father that he was very probably a coward and that he definitely didn't love my mother or even me enough to stand up to Kyle. We all stayed still until we heard the front door click shut and then Kyle deflated. I turned on my heel before he had time to say anything else and ran upstairs to my room, my feet pounding the floorboards. I lay on the rug in the middle of the room with my eyes squeezed shut and sobs racking my body. Kyle was right. Why should he care about me? I wasn't his kid and even my own father didn't really care about me all that much or he'd be down there right now, fighting for me instead of running away back to Seattle and his uncomplicated life. After a while I quieted down and listened to the risen voices coming from beneath me. I couldn't make out the words, but after a while I heard a loud thumping bang and wrenched my head from the rug in surprise. After that there wasn't much talking.

I stayed in my room until my mother came to find me. I listened to her feet up the stairs and along the hallway and then pause, turn, pause, turn. A rap on my door. When I didn't answer she opened up anyway.

"Santana?"

I looked up from the spot where I was still curled on my rug and sat up. I knew my face was streaked with tears and probably red and puffy too, but I was shocked to see my mother's was in a similar state.

"Are you okay?" I asked concerned, as she sat down beside me. She pulled me onto her lap, even though I was really too big to fit there anymore, and sniffed my hair.

"Santana, Kyle wasn't trying to scare you or be mean you know. He just got angry because your Dad was here." I nodded into her chest although I didn't really get that. Why would Papi being here make Kyle angry? "But maybe you could try harder?" She continued, "I know Kyle is new and different, but I love him a lot and he makes me very happy. Could you try again with him? For me?"

I looked into her face searchingly, not really understanding what was going on. Kyle wasn't just new and different – he was scary. I got that she loved him _now_ but love was subjective right? Hadn't my conversation with Papi proved that? But looking at her I knew one thing for sure. If this was the way I could make her happy then I would try. I'd try harder with Kyle. Maybe he was even right. Maybe I was rude and not his responsibility but if I could get him to like me, Mami would be happy. So I nodded again and resolved to make myself a better person so that maybe someone would love me enough.

* * *

Over the next few months I really did try hard with Kyle. I made him coffee on mornings and ran into town when he ran out of cigarettes. I never asked him to take me to the park and I always let him watch what he wanted on TV. On my mothers suggestion I went with Kyle to his church where he largely ignored me except to pointedly glare when the preacher read from the Proverbs: "Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will drive it far from him."

I accompanied my mother on shopping trips for wedding dresses, flowers and rings. I waited patiently while she flicked through the portfolios of what seemed like all the wedding photographers in town. I tasted dozens of different flavoured cakes until I felt I'd be sick and when I was, Kyle looked at me like murder. I sat in the sticky heat of a Lima summer while my mother cleaned down the car, and berated myself for being so careless.

When my birthday present arrived from my father, I hid it carefully beneath my bed without opening it because I didn't want Kyle to see what he'd got me. I didn't want him to call me selfish or greedy. I also didn't really want my father's gift. Not after the way he'd left last time. I was disappointed in him and didn't want bribe gifts.

Mid May, I walked down the aisle throwing handfuls of rose petals into the air. Pictures were taken and cake was eaten and when my mother prompted Kyle to dance with me I said "Yes" to his polite, if grudging, request for my hand. That night I listened to the creaking of a bed in the room next to mine and the soft cries of love making, and the following morning I accompanied the newly-weds to the airport where I was swiftly deposited into the arms of a smiling hostess to await the 10:25 shuttle to Seattle.

* * *

Unfortunately, it seems that wedded bliss does not last. By the time I returned from my father's four weeks later (having spent the time there tracing patterns in the condensation on his apartment windows and avoiding the topic of Kyle or my missed birthday phone call) my mother had moved our things into Kyle's house across town and my life looked completely different to when I'd left. When my plane landed back in Lima my mother picked me up from the airport. She looked somehow paler and shaken and as we drove across town she was quiet. She stopped outside a house with the sliding painted a garish shade of green and looked over at me trying to gauge my reaction. After a while I realised she wasn't going to move any time soon, so I cleared my throat and said "We should go in".

"Okay". She sounded small.

I hopped out of the old car and waited for my mother on the tarmacked driveway. When she eventually joined me she took a quick breath as though she was going to say something but then thought better of it. She took hold of my hand and because she seemed weird I let her (I mean I wasn't a baby, I didn't need my mom to hold my hand to get to the house). The main way in was through the garage which was dark and cool after the heat of the summer day. I couldn't see much as my eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness so my mother lead the way, her feet finding a path they must have quickly become familiar with.

As we walked through the house I couldn't help but compare Kyle's home to our old one. It was odd, seeing our stuff in someone else's house. There, flung onto the sofa were the throw pillows that had once filled our window seat. Over, the radiators hung some of our towels. The glass kitchen cupboard revealed an eclectic mixture of china – ours, Kyle's and the pretty engraved stuff I'd seen on their gift table at the wedding. One thing that really struck me was that Kyle's house didn't really have any pictures. Our own walls and sideboards back home had been filled with images of me at various ages; learning to ride bikes or throwing hunks of bread delightedly at scared ducks, but Kyle's house had none of this. I guess the pictures of me were still stored away (where they'd remain) and Kyle didn't have anyone he cared about enough to take pictures of.

My mother led me up the staircase and along a hall way until we reached a plain white door.

"Kyle?" she called out softly, reaching to push the door open. The room was dark and smelled… funny. I couldn't place the scent exactly but I'd later come to know it well. I peered past my mother into the darkness but couldn't see Kyle. At least, not until he lurched out of his chair by the liquor cabinet. I jumped back automatically gasping slightly as Kyle swung to his feet and sauntered over to my mother. I remember how he got real close to her face and growled something into her ear before she pushed him away. "Santana is back," she said.

"So she is," he slurred turning to sneer at me. I quivered under his gaze not liking the way his eyes roamed up and down me as if evaluating me somehow. He left my mother's side and came over to me where he bent down to ruffle my hair. His face blocked out all the light and the stench on his breath made me gag. "How is our little sweetheart?"

But as he said it he swung violently away from me and I sighed a little in relief, backing up to place my sticky palms against the wall of the hallway. He headed towards my mother again. He grabbed her jaw violently and turned her head towards me. "How is your darling little girl?" He spat in her face, "Back from seeing her perfect father, is that what you think? Do you think about him? I bet you do you dirty little slut."

"Kyle, no," my mother began, wrenching her head backwards, "I… I'd never. I love you."

"Do you? You hear that Santana? Your _mami _loves me. She loves me, not you."

I closed my eyes then. Kyle was just saying that. He didn't mean it. _Kyle is different. Kyle isn't trying to scare you or be mean._

"What do you think, huh?"

I could feel him getting close to me now. I could feel him as he crouched down in front of me. I could smell the smell on his breath as he puffed it out into my face.

"Do you love me?"

I knew the answer to this one. I did. But the words got caught in my throat as I struggled to find oxygen in the air I was breathing in. My eyes were locked closed and I couldn't move. I felt Kyle move away from me again and I opened my eyes just in time to see his fist swinging down towards me. The blow landed just above my left temple and I staggered into the wall, losing my balance and falling to the floor. Kyle laughed again. That same maniacal laugh as the last time my father had visited Lima. I looked up at my mother, tears from the shock of the blow sparking in my eyes. I held out my hand desperately to her. _Mami. _But she was staring vacantly out of the window and I understood that she wouldn't come to me now. Not with Kyle standing between us reeking of liquor and laughing like a maniac. He wandered back to where she stood and turned to stare at me for a few seconds before he kicked the door shut with his toe, driving a wedge between me and my mother forever. Maybe she didn't have much of a choice but she'd still picked him.

* * *

My temple smarted for the next few hours. The next few weeks. The next few years. I'd always feel that first mark he put on me, like a brand. I'd always remember the scars that ran alongside it in my heart. The ones that reminded me that now, even my mother had left me. If not in body, in presence. How could she stand by like that?

Kyle wasn't always violent – just when he was drunk. I learned the signs. Knew when to disappear to my bedroom at the back of the house or escape to the branches of one the trees in the back yard. I tiptoed around him in the house, even when he was sober, not wanting to anger him but knowing my mere presence was enough. So far as I knew he never apologised to me or my mother for what he did to me that day, or any of the days thereafter. Even the slightest provocation was enough to turn Kyle on me. Derogatory comments would be thrown my way over Sunday pancakes or as my _abuela _left the house. In company, he was transformed, perfect and charming, but behind closed doors Kyle was an entirely different man. The worst episodes always coincided with contact from my father. He seemed to be a particular sore spot for Kyle. Once, I heard him screaming at my mother about how Papi had ruined her purity, and destroyed any chances he had of having a perfect family. Somewhere along the way I slipped under her radar. Anything I did wasn't good enough to earn her approval in Kyle's presence. "Kyle no-" became "Santana shut up". I understood she was trying to keep me out of trouble but it never stopped him. And she never stopped him.

I grieved for the loss of her love. She grieved for the loss of her ideals. And Kyle, he punished us all for our grieving.

* * *

Looking back, it was a really good thing I started middle school that fall. The world was falling to pieces around me and I needed something steadfast to hold on to. But most of all I needed to meet Brittany. If I hadn't met Brittany that fall, I'm sure my life would have turned out very differently.

Since we'd moved all the way across town I was now in a different school district, so I'd be starting middle school not knowing any one.. As I pedalled my way the 6 blocks to William McKinley middle school I was kind of nervous. I went in and introduced myself to the receptionist who looked at me quizzically (I guess most new kids don't turn up without a parent in tow) and directed me towards the hall where we'd be sorted in to classes.

I sat alone on a row about 3 back from the front and waited. I was joined by other kids and eventually a principal introduced himself and a bunch of other teachers who took turns calling names from lists like you did when picking teams in gym class. I saw her as I was walking up to my assigned class. She had her back to me and was (oddly) popping and locking in front of another, shorter blond girl. She was tall and gangly, all odds and angles. Her hair was the colour of summer. And when she turned around it was like I knew even then. I found her eyes in that room as I walked toward her for the first time in my life. They were light blue, like the ocean, like the sky, like peace, like freedom. And something inside me felt better.


	3. Things were Better, Things were Worse

**AN: I was originally going to post the next two chapters as one chapter but I felt it was getting a little long so I decided to cut it in half. The next half will be up soon!**

I watched Brittany for weeks. Her image became so familiar to me that when I closed my eyes on a night, she was what I'd see. Burned into my retinas were pictures of her, her hair shimmering in the sun as I stared across the playground from the climbing frame. Her long pale legs stretched out in front of her as we warmed up for gym. Her swinging a toddling blonde girl around and around in her arms one day after school. And her dancing. Always her dancing. She'd spin her way across homeroom into the seat 2 in front and 1 to the right of me – the perfect angle to stare but not be caught doing so. She was mystical and magical and all I wanted was to watch her but never to speak. I felt that if I approached her I'd shatter the spell. That she was a ball of light and energy so bright that reaching out to touch her would break me, or her, or both of us. She was beautiful and perfect and I didn't want to ruin that.

* * *

It was almost thanksgiving before I first spoke to Brittany. So far I hadn't made many friends at my new school, partly due to the fact I'd spend most of my free time staring at Brittany, not talking to others, and partly because I didn't want to. I preferred observing people to being with them by this point. There was a lot to be gained from not exposing yourself to any feelings, whatever they were. So when the teacher asked us to "pair up" for our science projects I was left floundering for a partner like a fish out of water. As the area around me emptied I looked around desperately, wishing to avoid the sympathetic look the teacher would give me before pointing me off to work with Artie, who was by all standards uncool. I bit my lower lip and furrowed my brow, and was trying to decide what to do when I felt a hesitant tapping at my shoulder. I turned around and my stomach flipped. I wanted to smile and vomit at the same time. Brittany stood a few feet away from me, smiling like something sent from God.

"Hi," she said, "I'm Brittany, do you wanna be my partner? Cos I've seen you and you're super good at science and stuff. Like in that movie with the flying car."

Okay so it was hardly the thing of romance novels but she was right. I was good at science and I blushed lightly at the compliment and its connotations: that she'd been watching me too, at least enough to know what I was good at and what I wasn't.

"Ok," I replied and she linked our pinkies and dragged me over to the seat next to hers and that, as they say, was that.

* * *

Over the course of a science project, Brittany became my built in best friend. She wanted to do your average vinegar volcano but after a little arguing and reminding her that she'd picked me because I was good at science, I managed to talk her down. All the same, she gave me the pout. That one that made me fall for her every time. My own idea was based on my father's job. I'd spent enough time at the hospital in Seattle to see some pretty cool things (along with a lot of waiting rooms and hospital jello) and one of the things that had really struck me were electrocardiograms I'd seen bleeping at the sides of the patient's beds. I explained this to Brittany and when she didn't get what I was talking about I put it into youtube and we watched as someone elses heart, beating on the screen. We made a model heart out of balloons and straws which I taped carefully into shape, mapping out the atria and ventricles while Brittany mixed together red paint, Ribena, food colouring and anything else red she could find in her kitchen cupboards. When she returned to me her hands and her lips were stained scarlet and I laughed at her appearance while her mother said in mock horror "Brittany! You look like you've murdered someone!" We bottled the red fluid, which I prayed wouldn't congeal – who knew what Brittany had ended up putting in there? – and waited.

* * *

Meanwhile at school I was no longer the strange new kid. After asking me to be her partner Brittany towed me around everywhere with her. It's strange to think about us like that now. As we grew our roles somewhat reversed, at least in public, but back then she was my hero. The first day she linked our pinkies in the cafeteria and pulled me over to her lunch table I began to panic.

"Britt. I don't think I can-" _Britt_. I'd known her a grand total of 4 days.

"Sure you can. You just don't want to," she pointed out correctly, "let's go. You'll love them and they'll love you."

Quinn was short and spiky but she was kind. Noah was as much of a douchebag then as he is now, but at least he didn't insist we called him Puck. Finn had a face that reminded me of cafeteria pudding. Tina's hair was almost as black as mine. Rick had two teeth missing right in the front of his mouth and Brittany whispered in my ear that she thought he might have lost them fighting a bear (I later learned he played ice hockey and had lost them on the pitch). The boys sat opposite us, as though part of a rival team.

"Hey guys," said Brittany, struggling to put her food down while keeping a grip on my hand, "this is Santana. She's my project partner."

I smiled, too nervous to say anything.

"Oh yeah," Noah said from opposite me, "you're the new kid right? Where did you come from?"

I looked anxiously at Brittany for a second, kind of hoping she'd answer for me but when she didn't I cleared my throat and said quietly, "Lima Heights Adjacent."

"Wo-oah," exclaimed Finn and Quinn laughed. Even I couldn't suppress a grin at the dopey look on his face. "I heard most people don't come out of there alive."

Now I laughed. My old neighbourhood hadn't been that bad at all.

"Well," I grinned back at him. "I had to make a run for it after I murdered some guy."

The seven of us fell into an easy rapport. It was nice, to sit around with people who liked me (if not for me, at least for Brittany). After Lunch break, Brittany handed me off to Quinn who was apparently in my math class and we headed off together as she bounced off happily to Social Studies. It turns out that Quinn had a locker on the same row as mine and as we gathered our Gym kits for next period she kept me talking.

"Brittany likes you," she mused after a short silence. I just looked over at her and cocked an eyebrow _your point?_ But she didn't seem to have one. We walked to math together in silence and sat down in our assigned seats with her words still hanging between us. I felt a strange glow of pride lighting me up. _Brittany likes me._

* * *

The science fair was the Thursday before Thanksgiving weekend. I jittered nervously as I cycled over to Brittany's house. It was 3 blocks from mine in the same direction as the middle school, and our heart was still there, so it made sense for me to stop by. My mom and Kyle had said they'd drop by that afternoon so I needed this to go good. I left my bike on Brittany's front porch and knocked politely on the door. While I waited I listened to the hub bub of her family behind the door. It was a jumble of noise – the type that would send Kyle into a rampage. Her little sister, Hannah, was crying and a stereo was blasting music – the spice girls I think. I heard her Dad yell up the stair and the music cut out suddenly. Feet hammered down the stairs and Brittany's face appeared in the doorway.

"Hi San." Day 13. _San._

Her Mom packed us and our heart into the car and buckled her still screaming sister into the baby seat beside Brittany who immediately began to sing her a song to try and calm her down. It wasn't much of a song at all really, more of a rhyming game. How many things can you rhyme with Hannah? _Hannah Banana _She sang.

_Hannah Montana_

_Hannah the llama_

_Hannah Bandana_

It was kind of cute.

When we pulled up at the middle school, Mrs Peirce strapped Hannah into her buggy and began to push her around the playground while Brittany and I dashed inside to set up our project. Throughout the afternoon we demonstrated our project to the visitors, pouring the fake blood down the straws and squeezing the balloons to make it flow around the system we'd created. Eventually Quinn came over looking jealous. She'd picked Tina as her lab partner and was apparently regretting it. After the judges had cycled the hall and the prizes had been given out (Britt and I scored a blue second place ribbon each) Kyle and my Mom appeared. Of course, they'd missed the majority of the goings on and we were just beginning to pack away our own things but the fact that they were here at all was enough to turn me into a nervous ball of mush.

"Santana," cooed my mother from across the hall to grab my attention.

"Hi mom," I said as they got closer to us.

"How 'bout a quick demonstration before you clear up?" asked Kyle who was suddenly the epitome of a stepfather.

"Sure," I replied, relishing the attention. I felt Brittany at my side, "this is Brittany," I explained, "could you grab the blood Britt?"

Brittany used a funnel to pipe the "blood" in to the top left balloon and as it flowed I began to explain: "So ummm… the blood enters the right atrium trough the vena cava and flows through here into the ventricles. Valves stop it from going backwards. When the right ventricle is full – wait a sec – there, the heart contracts and it forces the blood into the pulmonary artery. That leads to the lungs, here, where it gets oxygenated and then it comes down the pulmonary vein back into the heart. Down in to the left ventricle, and then when it's full it contract again and it comes up here through the aorta" I finished, dodging out of the way to avoid the splurge of red fluid shooting out of the final straw. I earned myself a round of applause from Brittany' family who'd turned up just in time to see the finish of my presentation. When they quieted down again I took a deep breath, steeling myself just in case, "we got second place."

"Good job," said Kyle and I felt a perverse rush of pleasure.

At home that evening I stuck the blue science fair ribbon to my headboard. When I bounded downstairs to eat dinner with my Mom and Kyle, there were no snide comments about my lack of friends or the fact I'd dragged mud into the house. In fact the only time the glow of pride left my cheeks was when Kyle mentioned, "I might be able to get a red ribbon if I really tried." That griped me a little. Second place was good enough for Britt's family. After dinner I snuck off to my room with the landline phone and dialled my father's number from memory. I left a message on his answering machine describing our science project and dropping Brittany's name like she was a celebrity. After a while I trailed off realising I was simply saying my thoughts to my father's answering machine. I made a quick finish to the message, hung up and put myself to bed. I fell asleep with Brittany dancing behind my eyes again.

* * *

I was scared that our friendship would end as suddenly as it had begun so after the holiday weekend I was nervous about returning to school. I needn't have been. As I passed her house I looked over to Brittany's porch automatically and found her waiting for me as she would be most every morning for the next 3 years. Every morning was different with her. Some days she'd be sat stock still staring into the distance. Others she'd be chattering happily to Hannah. One morning, near the end of 7th grade, she'd been eating a popsicle before school and I threatened to tell her mother. She had shoved the popsicle into her mouth and tackled me to the ground, tickling my ribs until I cried Uncle. This morning she was doing the time warp, because of course she was. I dumped my bike in her garage and we walked the rest of the way together, pinkies linked.

And so it went on. Every morning I'd pedal to her house, ditch my bike and link my pinky with hers. At school we were now automatic partners for any group activity. Up until Christmas I saw her maximum 3 of the five periods we had in one day, but as soon as the new semester started I made sure we opted for the same electives so that I could spend more time with her. I picked Spanish for us and she, to my extreme horror, picked cross country. Days when we had both gym and cross country became my worst nightmare, especially as it was winter. I'd swap into my gym shorts and follow Brittany outside where we'd be expected to run laps around the track as a warm up. No matter how hard I tried, I could never catch her up. She was bigger and stronger than I was. She seemed to belong to the rhythm of pounding feet like I never would. Still I'd be glad of her choice later when I realised how important it was to be in shape if I wanted to get on to the cheering squad. Quinn would make sure I understood the importance of this.

One cold January afternoon as we finished our final lap of the track I collapsed exhausted onto the rough red outline. I gasped for breath desperately, my eyes streaming as I tried to steady myself. Eventually I began to breathe more normally again, overcoming my exertion and found that Brittany was sat on the track next to me. I noticed that she'd barely broken a sweat.

"Britttt-annnyyy," I whined, "How do you do that?"

She giggled and pulled my head off the track and over on to her lap. I looked up at her for a few seconds then closed my eyes against the intensity of her gaze. I knew the coach would blow his whistle soon and the knowledge disappointed me. As the rest of the kids finished their final laps behind us I caught my breath and Brittany stroked my hair.

* * *

For my birthday I asked my father for dance lessons. It was an unusual request but after watching Brittany dancing for so long I was inspired. I later realised that the way Brittany moved was not something that could be learned. She was a natural, with flare and talent well beyond my own. When my father heard my request he paused for a second, missing a beat before agreeing with me. I read him the details of the dance studio where Brittany took lessons in town and he agreed to call me when he'd booked the lessons. I began ballet 101 the first week of April. Beneath my skin my muscles became tighter. I learned to feel the music beneath my feet. I learned too count in my head. _1 and 2, 3 and 4. _But I could not learn what came so natural to Brittany.

* * *

Early-May, a few weeks before school got out Brittany asked me when my birthday was. I blushed furiously, embarrassed that I had been caught out. I hadn't told her about my birthday because I'd been afraid to. I'd never had a friend like her before. I didn't know if she would be disappointed that I didn't want to have a party or if she'd want to buy me a present or not.

"San..?" She prompted me, jerking me from my thoughts.

I looked up at her. "It was at the end of March."

I watched the emotions range across Brittany's face but I didn't care to read them. I knew she wasn't exactly going to be happy with me.

"But I never got you a present." She said eventually. I could hear the whine in her voice and knew that she was pouting before I looked up. We were sat in her backyard with our feet dangling in her pool to try and escape some of the excessive heat of the day. She was close enough for me to reach out and touch but I didn't. "I know." She exclaimed, "I'll make you one now." I looked back up to find her beaming at me. She got up and skipped from the side of the pool, over the lawn and into the woods surrounding the houses before I could stop her. Her name rose to my lips, _wait, wait for me_ and then I dashed after her, my jeans rolling back down as I pounded over the grass. I found Brittany about 3 meters into the shade sitting cross legged on the ground. I circled and sat opposite, mirroring her stance.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I want to give you something," she replied. I watched her hands plucking flowers from the grass and knotting them deftly together. Eventually I lay back and looked at the dappled light filtering through the canopy of leaves above me.

"San..?"

"Hmm…"

"Last week when you got changed for gym class you had a bruise on your stomach."

"I told you, I walked in to a table."

Silence.

"San…?"

"Yes B?"

"Tell me about your Dad."

Britt and I had discussed my father a couple of times before. She knew he lived in Seattle, although I'm not sure she really understood how far away that was or what it meant. She understood that when my Mom had remarried I had gained another Father. She understood that I found it difficult to talk about all of this. I closed my eyes against the sunlight. Listened to the birds twittering in the trees.

"What do you wanna know?" I asked.

"What's he like?"

I considered this for a moment.

"I used to think he was superman," I said absentmindedly, "but then one day he wasn't."

"No, but what's he like? What does he do? What colour is his favourite?"

"He's a Doctor," I replied. I didn't know my father's favourite colour. I cast around my brain quickly for a change of subject, feeling uncomfortable at my inability to answer Brittany's questions. "When's your birthday anyway?"

"September 27th," she replied precisely, "Okay, sit up I'm done."

I followed her command and sat facing her again. She reached over carefully, holding a daisy chain. It was childish and simple – just like her. To this very day I have that daisy chain, carefully taped back together, and placed in a memory box that's really just a shoe box. The flowers are all dried up now, a reminder of the passing of time since we sat cross legged and did childish and simple things. She placed the chain around my head, resting it carefully on my ears so that it sat on me, like a hairband. A long chain fell down my back, tangling into my long dark hair. She sat back, looking at me proudly.

"You're so pretty San."

And she watched the blush spread across my cheeks.

* * *

When I returned home later that afternoon, with Brittany's daisy chain in my hair I was greeted by a silent house. I took the opportunity to call my father but after hearing his familiar answer machine message I hung up, realising I didn't really have anything I wanted to say, at least, not to dead air. I flipped absently through the TV channels, then did some math homework. Finally, as the sun was setting I fell asleep on the couch. I was woken a few hours later by the sound of the front door slamming. Kyle and my Mom barrelled into the kitchen in the throes of an argument. My mother was screeching, tears streaming down her face. Kyle, I already knew, would be blind drunk. Unfortunately between me and my bedroom was the kitchen, the unmapped battle ground I would have to cross to get to safety. Using the argument as cover I slipped around the kitchen doorframe, and had almost made it to the far side before I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned a lump in my throat. Kyle stood over me, his eyes dead, empty and unseeing. They latched on to the flowers in my hair and I felt my lower lip wobble. His fingers hooked under the flowers and stroked them.

"What's this?" he grunted.

Normally I would have stayed silent but something pushed me to speak up. Perhaps the desperate and unrelenting desire to keep a hold of them daisies. They were the first thing Brittany had given me.

"Brittany gave them to me." I said by way of explanation, "They're mine."

He pulled upwards and the chain snapped from my head. I let out a small gasp and watched it swing in his hands. I wanted it back so desperately, which was stupid, so stupid. All it was, was some flowers strung together. I didn't need them but still I felt tears springing to my eyes as Kyle turned from me.

"She's good, that girl. Better than you. You don't deserve her."

_Liar, liar. Brittany picked me, Brittany wanted me. _I thought fiercely. _But everyone leaves in the end. _ Another part of me replied, unbidden.

I felt the tears flowing freely down my face now. The only thing I could think about were those flowers and how much I wanted them back. I mustered all the courage I had and said into the silence, "Kyle-". He spun to face me cutting off my words, his hand curled into a fist around my flowers.

"Look at you," he said, raising his voice now, sneering and mocking me, "Crying over some stupid flowers." He moved closer and I knew what was coming before it did. The blow landed on my cheek and I felt the skin there split, the blood flow down my face. I stumbled blindly into the table and heard the tinkling of glass as it shook beneath me. I reeled backwards, trying to steady myself and fell to the floor. I let out a yelp as my hands hit shattered glass, cutting into my palms. My legs were twisted at an awkward angle beneath me. I could taste blood.

I looked up to see Kyle looming over me, his face was blank and empty. I wondered if he would hit me again. I forced myself not to cry, knowing he hated the sound of me sobbing. His gaze wandered the room as though he was trying to find something, then he dropped the flowers and left me in silence. I hadn't noticed my mother leave the room but when I looked around for her she was gone. I pulled myself up, my feet slipping on the slick of blood and picked up those flowers. My prize. I watched my blood soak into the pure white petals and felt hot tears spring to my eyes again. In that moment I hated Brittany as much as I loved her. I hated her for having the life I wished I had. I hated her for her purity and her simplicity. I hated her for giving me the flowers I prized so much.


	4. Flesh to Stone

**AN: Sorry this is so long and took so long. I don't even think it's that great, just a lot of middle school fluff really. **

I used tweezers to pull the shattered glass from the palms of my hands. I probably needed stitches but I did my best using plasters over the deeper cuts. I washed the blood from my legs and cleaned the gash on my cheek. By anyone's standards I did a poor job. Over the next few weeks I pedalled my bike two blocks then took a sharp left turn, my hands aching against the handle bars. I would follow the road all the way back to Lima heights adjacent and spend the long summer days in the play park on my old street. Somehow the colours seemed too bright for my life now. I'm sure someone from the school must have called home about me at some point but my mom never said anything to me about my absences. Besides I only had to make it 2 weeks until school was out.

I pedalled home, three days before the end of school to find Brittany sitting on my door step. I automatically cupped my cheek, my brain spasming to try and find answers to the questions I knew she would ask. Panic rose inside me and I briefly debated turning around and coming back later but –too late. She'd seen me and was sprinting towards me.

"Santana. San!" She practically knocked me off my bike as she pulled me in to a bone crushing hug. I staggered, trying to keep us upright. "Where were you? Miss Jenkins made us partner up in basketball and I had to go with Tina both times." She tried to pull away but I held her to me a little longer, needing to feel her. To feel this. To feel. Eventually I let her go and she stood back to look at me. Her mouth formed a little "o" and her brows drew closer together.

Before she could ask I dropped my gaze and said, "It's nothing B, I'm sorry I missed gym."

She reached out and stroked the healing gash on my face. I knew I should be able to feel her touch but the scar forming stopped me from doing that. It was such a strange feeling.

"What happened?"

I searched my brain desperately. Brittany was almost as gullible as they come. "I…" _split it on my step-fathers hand. _"I fell off my bike, look I cut my hands up too." I showed her my palms. They didn't exactly look like your regular bike graze but they'd do. Apparently she was convinced.

"You're so clumsy, silly," she scolded and I giggled.

I pushed off and began cruising slowly towards my house. Brittany padded along beside me.

"What are you doing this summer?" She asked me.

"Mom says I should spend the day times at Abuela's. I'm going to my Dads too though, in a couple of weeks. What about you?"."

"Camp." She said.

"Dance camp?"

"Uh-huh. I wish you were coming, it would be much more fun. You should come and see me, we put on a performance at the end for all the families."

I nodded. "Ask your Mom when it finishes. I might not be home…"

I got off my bike and propped it up against Kyle's garage. Brittany had never been in my home before on account of my not wanting to let Kyle see her. We usually spent our time at her house, with her family who were so different to mine. To me, her home felt like fire where mine was ice. Her parents were warm and friendly where mine ranged from indifferent to abusive, and I didn't want her to see that. I was ashamed that I didn't have what she did, that I couldn't manufacture that for myself. I still remember the first time she came to my house for dinner around 6 months later - you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. Afterwards, she asked me if my Mom was a zombie.

I folded my arms and turned to stare at her, watching the mix of concern and fear wash over her face. I looked away for a long moment.

"San, why didn't you come to school?" she asked eventually.

Over the next few years there were opportunities like this. Where Brittany asked me a direct question and I had two options. The first was to tell the truth, to collapse into her arms and to sob while she shushed me and to hope for the best. There were definite advantages to this, it would mean an out for me, but the disadvantages were worse. I already saw myself as the strong one in our relationship. I felt duty bound to protect Brittany from all the bad things I had seen. She had an innocence I had lost long ago and I had promised myself I would not be the one to ruin that. So as I would always do, I took the second option. The second option was to lie. The lies felt flat and bitter in my mouth and the more I told, the harder it was to stop lying. I was embarrassed that I could not control my situation but I was more embarrassed of the lies I told to Brittany to avoid telling her about this. I was afraid that if she ever found out the truth she would look at me differently. That she would be disappointed that I had not told her about my problems. It never occurred to me that she could solve any of them.

I don't remember what I said to her that first time. I felt guilty, fobbing her off but it was simpler like that. Over the summer I worked at toughening myself to the things Kyle did and said to me. I rationed my tears. I did sit ups in my bedroom. I used my newly toned legs to run laps around my block. I practiced flashing my heart from flesh to stone, flesh to stone. I would not cry in front of him. I would be the best. I would be better. I would always win and I would never, ever give him a reason to hurt me again. The stronger I got, the faster I got, the more in control I felt. I learned to command my emotions. _Thoughts before feelings. Words before actions._ By the time I returned to 6th grade in the fall I had moulded myself into the role of a soldier.

There was only one floor in my plan. Brittany. Whenever she walked into a room my heart melted. We spent the time we were both home that summer in her back yard, tracing pictures in the night sky and whispering our secrets across the grass. When we received our schedules in the last week of august, she was the one I called to check if we were in the same classes. I was thoroughly disappointed we weren't – she'd been stuck in remedial maths while I was supposed to be taking pre-algebra 2. When I hung up the phone I practiced again. _Flesh to Stone, flesh to stone. _But it was no good where Brittany was concerned, so I allowed myself this one small concession. _You can have Brittany, but you have to make sure you're good enough for her._

* * *

2 weeks before her 12th birthday Brittany appeared at our lunch table holding a thin stack of pink envelopes. She was obviously excited as she handed them around the table. I waited patiently for my own, slightly (ridiculously) anxious that I wouldn't receive one. She gave me mine last, coming to sit by me and grinning as she handed over the envelope.

"A sleepover?" I asked happily, having ripped open the envelope.

"Yep. Mom says since she got the exterminators to move the monster out of my closet I can have sleep overs now!"

Over the next two weeks I obsessed about the sleepover. I'd only been to one before in my entire life – some crazy elementary school mom had agreed to host her daughter's friends for an evening – and couldn't remember much about it apart from that it had ended in tears and a midnight phone call to one of the girls' mothers. The evening before Brittany was expecting us, I picked out pyjamas and clean underwear and packed my toothbrush into an overnight bag. I wrapped Brittany's present (which I'd picked carefully, I wanted it to be perfect) and placed on the top of the pile, then spent a sleepless night gleefully imagining what I'd be up to this time tomorrow. The next day crept by and finally I headed off to Brittany's at 6:30pm.

I knew better by now than to knock on Brittany's door. There was usually such a ruckus coming from inside that nobody heard me, and with a houseful of tween girls, I doubted that tonight would be any exception. I let myself in and followed the familiar path to the kitchen where I found Mrs Pierce on the phone to a pizza delivery place. She waved at me enthusiastically and pointed at the ceiling which I took as a queue to go upstairs.

Brittany's was already there playing host to two other girls I recognized from our grade but didn't know that well. I dumped my stuff by the door just in time to receive her hug and then picked my way across the litter of blow up mattresses and sleeping bags to her bed, holding her hand to steady me as we went. Shortly after I arrived, Quinn, the final guest of the evening did too. The night was filled with games and pizza, and finally a movie picked by Brittany. She picked _monsters inc. _which was a strange choice for a girls sleepover, and for a long time afterward, when her parents had kicked us out of the living room, we stayed up talking while Brittany wondered intermittently if the exterminators really _had _removed the monsters from her closet or if they were secretly still there. In a moment where the other girls were talking she leant over to me and rested her head on my shoulder whispering "San? What if there was like a monster family and my closet was their home? Now they won't have anywhere to live."

In the middle of the night I woke up feeling strange. I crept out of bed and into the bathroom along the hall. When I pulled down my panties though, I saw a slick of red blood settled on them and beginning to stain my thighs. A slight flicker of panic ran through me, but I knew this was supposed to happen just not now. The inconvenience of not knowing Brittany's bathroom all that well battled with my desire of not wanting to wake the other girls to witness this embarrassing situation. After rifling through the bathroom cupboards and coming up empty handed I finally conceded defeat and tiptoed back to Brittany's room, picking my way over the sleeping forms separating me from her bed.

"Britt?" I shook her gently, stood beside her for fear of ruining her sheets. When she didn't respond I tried again, "B, wake up." With a tough poke in the side she jerked into consciousness and made a confused noise as she looked around.

"San? San what's wrong?"

"I ummm. I'm kind of, bleeding." Brittany looked me up and down confused. I could practically hear the cogs whirring in her brain as she searched for my sight of injury. I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. The cramps were starting to set in. After a couple of seconds I heaved a sigh. "_Oh my god_ B, do I have to spell this out for you?" I ran my hand over my stomach pointedly.

"Oh. Oh! Right. Yes. Bleeding. That's so cool, I haven't got my period yet. Does it hurt?"

"Shhh! Britt you'll wake the others." I said, rolling my eyes at her lack of discretion, "Do you have any pads or something?"

"No. My Mom has tampons but they're in her bathroom and I don't know how they work. Wait a sec."

She scrambled out of bed, untangling herself from the covers and went over to Quinn's sleeping form on the ground. She shook her gently to wake her and I watched as she murmured something to Quinn. Quinn extracted herself from her sleeping bag and picked up her overnight bag from by the door. Brittany lea us all out into the hallway.

"Here," Quinn handed me a pad, "I'll teach you to use a tampon sometime," she promised with a wry smile.

When I returned to the hallway they were both still waiting for me. Quinn had had the forethought to request Brittany fetch me another pair of Pj pants and while I changed she asked me if I'd ever taken tablet painkillers before. I shook my head _no_ and thought about how Quinn seemed a thousand years old right then. Much older than Brittany or I anyway.

"Does it hurt?" Brittany asked again.

"Kind of." I said not wanting to admit to weakness.

She wrapped her arms around me and rubbed the small of my back comfortingly. I buried my head into her shoulder and let her comfort me for a while, fighting tears. Wishing these arms were my mothers, but glad that if it had to be anyone else, it was Brittany. After a while she pulled me back to her room and we navigated across to her bed. I made to move round it to get to my sleeping bag, but she pulled me down with her, enveloping me in her heat. She wrapped her arms around my midriff and stroked my stomach, sending butterflies cascading over my skin.

"San?"

"Yeah?"

"You're my best friend."

I rolled over to face her, increasing the distance between us. I looked for the sparkle of her starry eyes but couldn't find it.

"You're my best friend too B." I whispered into the darkness.

* * *

The next September, the first day of school, Quinn sat Brittany and I down at our regular table in the cafeteria. I'd seen this fiery glint in her eyes before and new that it meant we were in for a lecture, or an explanation or something else long winded that I wouldn't be particularly keen to listen to.

"Boys," she stated obtusely, surveying the cafeteria in front of us.

"What about them?" I asked. Personally I found boys repulsive. They always seemed to have snot on their faces or grass stain on their knees.

"Well, I've been thinking. We should probably get into the dating pool soon. We've only got two more years until high school. We need to set ourselves up right if we want to be popular."

I rolled my eyes at her. Perfect little Quinn with her platinum blonde hair and her lipstick, and her skirts falling just above the knee. It would take Quinn about two seconds to get a boyfriend and maybe 30 to get sick of him.

"I'm not joking around Santana," she scolded and I heaved a sigh. "Look, you blatantly have no interest in them but it's important you learn who's who. Who's got game and who doesn't? You have to date up to get anywhere."

"Date Up? Who's Up, I don't think I met him yet," enquired Brittany sincerely.

"No not Up the person. I mean, date someone who's on the football team or something like that. Like Finn, he's trying out for the team this year."

"Finn looks like pudding," I interjected.

"Finns cute," Quinn corrected, letting her eyes rove the cafeteria. "Look," she commanded pointing over to a table full of boys sat opposite us. "Finn is cute. Artie isn't going anywhere in life, _never_ date him. Rick plays hockey, which means he won't be as cool as guys on the football team, but any guy with a letterman jacket is worth your time. Mike is okay I guess, if you're in to Asian. And Puck will be hot stuff in a few years I can guarantee, I suggest if you want him, you get in there early – he'll have girls flinging themselves at him in high school."

My eyes flickered around the table as Quinn finished her analysis.

"Puck?" I cocked my eyebrows, "why are you calling him that?"

She shrugged, "That's his name now."

"I don't get it," said Brittany suddenly, wrinkling her nose, "Why do we have to date boys but only certain ones? Why can't I date Artie if I want to?"

Her comment cut me a little though I wasn't sure why. Brittany was my best friend and yeah, she was pretty and she could make me smile when no one else could but that didn't mean she couldn't date whoever she wanted. It wasn't like she could date me.

"Do you?" asked Quinn.

"Do I what?"

"Want to date Artie?"

"Well no, I don't really wanna date anyone," she said glancing over at me. I shook my head in agreement.

"You'll have to eventually," Quinn repeated, heaving a sigh as though she was bored of this conversation now. She rose to her feet and gave us an exasperated look. "And when you do remember: date up. Also don't forget its cheer try outs tomorrow."

And with that she flounced off into the distance, leaving us both with a lot to think about.

* * *

The three of us made the cheer squad that fall and Quinn set about ensuring we had successful high school careers in store. She intervened when Brittany picked yearbook as her elective, changing it for US history which bored Britt to tears every other day. She made us sit with the boys at the lunch table and spent her recesses talking to Finn or Puck or some other guy with a letterman jacket. She also banned the swings and the climbing frame, which was fine by me, I'd long outgrown them but upset Brittany quite a lot. I ended up cycling with her back to Lima Heights, once or twice a week so she could play on the park in my old neighbourhood. It was strange seeing Brittany in Lima Heights, a juxtaposition of my old life against my new.

I enjoyed being on the cheer squad, it gave me a sense of belonging that I'd never had before. The before and after parties were a great place to lose myself. It was easy: walk in, be handed a drink, forget. I almost felt myself sympathising with Kyle. It was great to lose your inhibitions and have the world go fuzzy around the edges. Still, fuzzy around the edges doesn't equal blind drunk (I mean I was 12, I wasn't exactly downing vodka shots) and Quinn made sure that Brittany and I retained at least some decorum. Mostly at parties I talked with Puck, while Brittany talked to Mike on Quinn's request.

Quinn's dating idea hadn't really caught on with Brittany and I. Sure, I liked Puckerman well enough but I didn't find him attractive. We spent most of our time together coming up with dares for each other to complete. _I dare you to climb on the garage roof. I dare you to jump into the pool topless. I dare you to draw a penis in the dirt on the back of that truck. _As the year went on our dares became wilder, the stakes upped. We became partners in crime, helping each other out when our dares led to sticky situations. There was only one time I gave Puck the pleasure of seeing me chicken out: _I dare you to kiss me._ I wrinkled my nose and told him I didn't want to lower my standards too much. Then I went to find Brittany.

* * *

The summer after I turned 13 I asked my father if Brittany could come stay in Seattle as well. The prospect of another summer without her had seemed almost too much to bare, and when I suggested it she'd been thrilled with the idea. "Then I can meet your Dad," she'd exclaimed and I'd smiled back as though this thought made me happy when all I really wanted to say was that he was nothing special. Papi and I hadn't spoken all that much since Mom had remarried, and when we had the subject of Kyle had bloomed like an elephant in the room between us. An awkwardness had settled over our relationship, where long silences were punctuated only by the compulsory birthday card or Christmas phone call. We played out this dance_, summer break, Christmas, birthday,_ year on year, the steps familiar but the dancer opposite becoming more abstract as time went on.

When I arrived at Brittany's house the morning we were scheduled to leave she was sat on her porch steps with her little sister, looking jittery with excitement. Her feet bounced adorably against the wood. I stepped out of the car and ran over to the house where Hannah greeted me with a "_San-tan" _and launched herself into my arms. It was only about 6am and her small, sleepy body felt warm and comforting against me. I held her as I followed Brittany inside to grab her stuff, shifting my weight subconsciously from foot to foot, the way that comes naturally to women who are shushing a child.

We passed the flight talking, Brittany's inquisitive brain never failing to come up with something strange to enquire about. I'd long since stopped questioning the logic of her ideas and had simply learned to go along with them, appreciating her quirkiness with something a kin to pride. When we touched down in Seattle, I began to worry a little, my palms breaking out into a sticky sweat as we walked through customs towards where I knew my father would be waiting. I wanted for him to like Brittany. To love her, simply because I did.

My father was the perfect gentleman on that trip. He greeted me with a hug and shook Brittany's hand, and over the next few days took us out to do interesting and engaging things. It's strange how much effort a parent will put in when the child is not their own.

We ended up at the hospital only once during the entire 3 weeks we spent in Seattle that summer. We'd been preparing to go out to breakfast a few mornings before we were due to leave when my father's pager had gone off and he'd given me that look that I knew meant "no breakfast today". Even though we were technically old enough to amuse ourselves in my father's apartment, he insisted we accompany him to the hospital (probably on Brittany's account, he'd left me home alone before but again, the standards are different with someone else's kids). When we arrived he dashed off to the surgical wing, leaving me with Brittany in the atrium.

"So, what do you want to do?" I asked Brittany, turning to find her in the buzz of the hospital.

"What do you mean? Your Dad said to wait for him."

I shook my head at her dismissively, "He could be hours," I explained, "We should go do something fun."

Brittany looked at me doubtfully, as though considering my sanity, "It's a hospital San, there's nothing fun to do. All the sick people live here."

But I already knew what I wanted to do with her. Contrary to her belief, I knew you could find all sorts of fun things to do in a hospital, and I knew exactly what Brittany and I could do.

"Wrong again Britt-Britt," I declared, smirking mischievously and reaching over to take her hand, "come with me."

I navigated our way to the inpatient wards, choosing maternity because I knew people there were the least likely to be crying, and because I didn't want Brittany to ask me questions about why they were sad. I led her into a linen closet and picked out some folded, pale blue sheets and pillowcases. Tucking them under my shirt I pulled her back out of the closet and down to the cafeteria in the basement, near to which I knew there was a janitor's closet. Slightly out of breath from our mad dash around the hospital, I jammed the door using the handle of a mop and flicked the light switch.

"What are we doing?" asked Brittany cautiously. She was stood with her hands jammed against the door, her eyes flickering across the walls of the closet. I dumped the sheets across the floor.

"Building a fort," I declared turning to face her and watch the smile blossom across her face. I smiled back, unable to help myself.

For the next half hour or so, we strung the sheets from the shelves of the janitor's closet, pulled tubs of cleaning fluids down to use as weights and arranged our pillowcases across the hard tiled floor. Finally I grabbed a torch I'd spotted on one of the shelves and flicked off the light.

In the darkness I crawled back under the tented sheets and propped myself up facing Brittany. I shone the light on her face, watching it glow of her flesh. Happily, I looked at her, smitten with myself for making this perfect moment for us. Even though I knew we were too old for this. Even though my father might be looking for us. Even though the janitors weren't going to be happy when they discovered us here. In that moment all I could see was Brittany. Her face glowing like the sun. Her eyes glistening like the ocean. Her smile as blinding as the stars.

"Brittany-" I began absently, having no idea what I'd say next.

The word lingered in the air around us for a second. She smiled at me, like she knew something I didn't then she reached over and took the torch from me, and shone it on to the canvas of sheets around us.

"My dad showed me this," she declared holding her hands out between the torch and the canvas, "I used to think my shadow was some creepy guy following me around but he showed me they could be beautiful."

I watched as she contorted her hands into animals, thinking about how wonderful she was. Most people at school thought Brittany was stupid, but to me she was the wisest of us all. Maybe she didn't know how to do long division but that didn't matter to me. Brittany lived and loved harder than anyone I knew, and at the end of the day that's what matters, right?

I watched a butterfly dance across the canvas, and made a low oo-ing noise. I longed to expel the beauty she so effortlessly exerted.

"Show me," I said, breathlessly. "I want to do that."

She nodded to me, then moved around to sit behind me, her legs straddling my back as she reached round to move my hands. Together we made our butterflies float over the canvas. In a usual fit of aggression I made mine chase after hers giggling as she began to whine in my ear.

"San, no..." she pouted.

"Come and get me," I teased moving my butterfly to the top corner of the canvas.

I felt her wriggling behind me and her hands changed in front of me. I got lost for a second, looking at the mish-mash of our skin in front of me. Caramel on snow all tinted by the soft glow of a torch. When I looked up again, her butterfly had turned into a mad dog, bounding across the canvas. I let out a quick yelp, suddenly caught off guard in my game. The dog launched across the canvas and engulfed my butterfly, our fingers becoming a single tangled shadow. Behind me, Brittany was laughing happily. The sound was infectious, like a bubble that would never burst.

"No fair," I eventually managed to choke out.

She ran her hands up and down my arms, touching all the way from shoulders to fingertips. Finally she laid her fingers over mine, twining them into me. I leant back against her, feeling her steady constant breaths. It was unusual for us to sit this close, and I knew it was a strange way for friends to sit. But right then it felt like the only way that we could sit. Like there was no better option than to exist like this.

"I win," she declared, as I buried my head into her chest, "what's my prize?"

"What do you want?" I asked.

She paused for a second, thinking. Confused by her silence I sat up a little, pulling my body away from hers and immediately missing her presence. I swivelled to face her. Her skin was luminescent in the soft glow of the torch light. I watched her face, my own coated in shadows. I looked down to our intertwined hands. She bit down on her lip for a second. _What do you want?_ My words rang between us.

And then she kissed me. Just like that. Quick. And Simple. And sweet. Her lips pressed chastely against mine, so soft and gentle that I could barely feel them there. So careful, that I would later wonder if I could even have felt them at all. She tasted like cherries and sugar.

That first kiss, my first kiss, _our_ _first kiss_, was perfect. Locked away from the world, just the two of us, with no-one else to think about, nothing else to feel but the heartbeat of the other, we were amazing. A bolt of lightning in the blackest night. When we broke apart and I opened my eyes, it was as if the world had tilted slightly. Her face was all I saw. She was all that mattered. When she smiled at me, I smiled back.

Our bubble was burst when my cell phone (a gift for my recent birthday) began to vibrate. And just like that, the world tilted back.


	5. Someone Special

**AN: Sorry it's been ages but you know, life. Also I'm aware anyone who's reading this will hate me at the end of this chapter. I'm sorry, I really am. Also reviews are very welcome. And by the way (pre-emptively) I don't agree with what Kyle says in this chapter, nor do I believe it's what all Christians think or in any case how they would react. **

**Ps- I haven't really checked through this so sorry for any typos etc.**

The kiss lingered in my mind like some ethereal dream. Every time I remembered it there was a strange silvery quality to it that made me doubt myself, and Brittany and everything that was. It came between us like an unspoken rule that we shouldn't talk about the kiss. I think, back then we were both scared – something she would grow out of but I would not. Still I'd spend boring maths classes trying to remember the exact shade of pink her lips were, or how she smelled that day, before berating myself angrily. _She's your friend, she's your friend. _

Our last year of middle school was spent exactly the same as our first three. But now, every time Brittany held my hand or stroked my hair out of my face it meant more. Her fingers would burn my skin as they crossed it. When she snuggled with me during our sleepovers (a usual occurrence since our first) I'd lie awake, trying to ignore the desire burning inside me. And when she had fallen asleep, I would carefully shrug her away, not wanting to wake her but desperate to ignore the fact I couldn't sleep with her draped all over me.

* * *

In November, Quinn started "dating" Finn, (or she started whatever-it-is middle schoolers do together). They seemed fine together. But that was all. Fine. I wondered whether that's how relationships were supposed to be. Fine. My Mom and Dad hadn't been fine, something had gone wrong and they'd broken up. My Mom and Kyle were certainly not fine, but they were still together. I spent hours trying to figure out what it meant to have a functioning relationship. In the back of math class, I questioned Quinn on how Finn made her feel, and contrasted it subconsciously to the way Britt made me feel. One day, mid-January, I sat with Quinn at our table in the cafeteria waiting for Brittany and took a deep breath:

"Have you had sex with Finn?" I asked in a rush.

Quinn looked over to me, cocking her eye brown questioningly. She turned back to the pasta she was eating and took a slow mouthful before answering me.

"No." She said simply.

"Do you want to?" I probed further, absently letting my mind wander to Brittany.

She shook her head, then nodded it, apparently torn. "I mean, he's cute and all but it's supposed to mean something you know? You're supposed to save it, someone special…" she trailed off.

We lapsed into silence for a second, mulling her words over. My thoughts immediately flitted to Brittany before I shut them down. I wouldn't choose the word cute to describe her, and she was definitely someone special.

"So, you and Puck?" Quinn began, breaking me from my reverie. Despite my apparent lack of interest she'd never given up on the idea of the two of us as a couple. "Do you want to have sex with him?"

I looked over to her, ready to snap a quick retort but felt my stomach pitfall and confidence tumble as I noticed Brittany was stood behind her. My eyes flickered for a second, finally settling on Quinn, and then almost to prove it to myself, I said "He's hot stuff."

"He's like chilli sauce," Brittany whispered in my ear as she sat down next to me, sending a shiver cascading down my spine.

"I totally knew you two would get it on," exclaimed Quinn from across the table. "Want me to get Finn to tell him you like him?" her eyes glinted with enthusiasm.

"Nah, I think I'll just wait for Chang's party at the weekend." I decided, squirming under Brittany's gaze.

"Just remember," said Quinn almost reproachfully, "someone special." And with that she bounced, as she was wont to do. Quinn had a habit of saying something like that then leaving suddenly. I rolled my eyes automatically.

"She's so dramatic," I exclaimed turning to Brittany to vent, but she was _elsewhere_. Sometimes, Brittany got into this mood you couldn't really explain where she went all stoic and silent. You just had to wait for her to come round, usually with a vague comment totally unrelated to the current conversation. I figured it was her thinking time but to be honest sometimes it seemed downright dangerous. Like when you were trying to cross the street. Rolling my eyes for the second time in 30 seconds I gathered my empty lunch tray into one hand and figuring Brittany could live without food for the next few hours lead her off to the gym.

The locker room was still empty, the few girls being crazy enough to take cross country still eating their lunches. The bell hadn't even gone yet – I hadn't been this early for a class since 6th grade. I sat Brittany down on a bench in front of her locker and cracked my own open. When I was changed I turned back to her; she was worrying her lip between her lower teeth. I heaved a sigh and moved over to her own locker, twisting in the code and pulling out her shorts and shirt.

"Britt?! Hello, earth to Brittany…"

I deliberated a second, then threw the kit at her head. She didn't even look around. Genuine worry sparked inside of me. What if something was really wrong? What if she'd hit her head and forgotten how to speak? I hurried round to sit in crouch in front of her, placing my sweaty palms on her bare knees.

"Brittany." She was a blank slate. "Brittany, what's wrong? Look at me will you?"

Her eyes flickered up suddenly and I sighed internally in relief.

"Are you ok?" I tried again.

She looked at me a second then put her hands over mine in her lap. I fought the urge to rip them away. It felt like too much. It felt like I'd spontaneously combust. Secrets: that was how Brittany and I played it. In the dark of night, not the light of day. And far away, not here. Not in school. Not in Lima, Ohio.

"Why did she say 'someone special'? What did you mean you'll 'wait for Saturday'?"

"We…" I looked down at our intertwined hands. "It's nothing B."

"She said you like him."

I nodded around a lump in my throat. Having this conversation with her made me feel sick to my stomach with guilt.

"I thought…" she trailed off and I finally looked back to her. Her blue eyes were swimming in a darkness that I knew I had made. Tears sparkled on her cheeks.

"Brittany," I reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks, "remember when Quinn said date up? Well, this is it. Puck's it. I'm just doing what's best for us, okay?"

She put her own hand up to join mine on her cheek and turned her face into it. She was silent, shaking against me.

"Britt. You're my _best friend_." My voice cracked on the last note. Because Brittany was my best friend. But she was so much more. And I needed so much more from her still. I looked at the girl in front of me, sobbing and broken and convinced myself that this was right. That the reason I was going after Puck was because it would make us popular. Would give us everything we needed. Little did I know that all I needed was right there in front of me.

"San?" She said eventually, her voice muffled against the palm of my hand. "You'll tell me won't you? When you, you know."

I narrowed my eyes, confused now, "If that's what you want." I nodded. Above us the bell rang and I jumped. I wrenched myself up onto the bench beside Brittany, careful to leave a few inches between us. "But you know, I didn't mean that. He's not someone special B." And despite myself I dropped my head on to her shoulder. My eyes drifted to her milky skin and I let the world drift out of focus…

* * *

That Saturday, high on spirits for the first time I sought out Puck. I dared him to do shots with me. We danced together and I shuddered at the feeling of his hands on my hips. I tried hard not to breathe in the same space he was breathing in. I dared him to steal panties from Mike's sister's room. When he came back, I dared him to kiss me.

Over the next few months Puck and I fell in to a natural rhythm. After Quinn had hashed out the details of our relationship for us the week after Mike's party we had become and official couple. We'd go on double dates with Quinn and Finn, and afterwards he'd take me to his place and we'd make out until I declared it was time to leave – usually around the same time he'd start trying to take my shirt off. I practised the same mantra Quinn would preach to me each week over lunch: "Save it. There are other ways to keep a guy interested." Puck would joke with me each time I rolled him away that one day I "wouldn't be able to resist baby" and I'd roll my eyes, fitting effortlessly into the space where our friendship had once existed.

Brittany and I barely acknowledged the existence of my new found relationship. At school I'd regularly ignore Puck whenever she was around, telling myself that I was making her happy by choosing her. Although I wasn't really choosing her at all. I felt more in control of myself than I had before. My ability to keep Puck interested seemed a personal triumph. His presence in my home reassured me. And thoughts of Brittany could be banished with his warm body above me.

Near the end of summer term, Quinn, Brittany and I auditioned for the cheerio squad at the local high school. We became the first freshmen to make it on to Sue Sylvester's squad in 4 years. When I slipped on that red uniform for the first time I felt complete: Fourteen, freshman in High School, youngest Cheerio since god knows when and a boyfriend to boot. My father sent me a gift in the post to congratulate me and I wore the golden chain around my neck the first time I rocked the halls of McKinley High School.

* * *

The night before our first day of high school, Brittany came over to my house to show off her Cheerios uniform. I sneaked her past the open door of the living room, the TV flickering into the darkness and up the stairs to my bedroom.

"Looking good Britt-Britt." I smirked, letting my gaze rove over her frame before looking away, embarrassed at my lack of discretion.

"Mmmm, you too," she said and I looked up to see her mouth popped open a little. I smoothed the pleats of my crisp red skirt feeling hot.

"Wanna try something?" I asked, moving over to the iPod dock in the corner of the room. I searched through the songs until I landed on something with a strong beat. Something I knew Brittany would like. By the time I turned back her whole body was already vibrating with the music.

She moved over to me and placed her hands on my waist, her hips swaying in time to the music.

"Actually," I begin my head swimming with the smell of her, "I was thinking like a routine or something…"

But it was no use. I could feel my pulse beating beneath my skin to the rhythm of the music. I raised my arms above my head to eviscerate the remaining distance between us and wrapped them around her neck. My body moulded into hers, the red of our new uniforms welding in to one. I closed my eyes, deciding this was ok, as long as I pretended it wasn't happening.

I felt the rush of blood beneath my skin as her hips ground rhythmically against me. I wanted to open my eyes and look at her. To see the flush of blood in her cheeks and the flash of blonde above me but I knew that to see would break the spell. I wound my fingers in knots in to her hair and somewhere above me I think I heard the tiniest noise. Brittany spun me in her arms so that I was facing away from her and slid one of her hand against my stomach, running the other up the side of my body before settling it back on my hips. I ground my hips back in to her appreciatively, bucking to the beat, my heart pounding with exertion. My whole body felt as though it was on fire, her fingers leaving trickles of flames on my skin. A new pulse began in me. I bit down on my lip to stop a groan from escaping and Brittany, as though sensing my need slipped a leg between my own. We danced. Her hands roamed my body desperately, our skin moulded together, our hips moved in time with each other and our pulses beat together. I could feel her breath on my exposed shoulders.

The bedroom door opened with a gust of cold air that shattered the moment. I sprung away from Brittany, gasping for breath as my eyes flew open and I felt a weight settle in my stomach.

"Turn that thing down," Kyle mumbled. His eyes were blood shot and his voice sounded like sandpaper. "What are you doing to her?"

The question was directed towards Brittany and I knew that Kyle must have seen us dancing. I looked over to Brittany, who was _oh god_ staring Kyle in the eye. She looked lonely and isolated where I had left her in the middle of the room. She glanced down, cowering under his gaze and looking smaller than I'd ever seen her.

"We were just dancing." I volunteered to the fill the silence. I took a half step forwards to put myself in Kyle's eye line.

"Her hands were all over you."

I turned halfway towards Brittany and stared at her until she looked me in the eye. "You should go." I said, trying to infuse my voice with the urgency I was feeling instead of sounding pissed at her. She opened her mouth to protest and I shook my head almost imperceptibly at her. I glared until she took the hint and shuffled her way past Kyle in the door way. As she left I moved over to the sideboard and shut my iPod off filling the house with an empty silence. I stared blankly at the wall for a moment, praying that he would leave.

"That girl." He began behind me, his voice sounded like snow sliding off the roof of a house. "coming in here and filling my house with sin. Look at you with your short skirt and your boyfriend coming over every other night. You disgust me. Who's that?!" He staggered towards me, trapping me. He panted a little as he regained his balance.

"WHO'S THAT?" He roared. I cowered backwards, trying to get away from him but trapped by his arms, steadying himself either side of me against the sideboard. He dropped his voice to a murmur before saying, "Is that your girlfriend?" He chortled to himself chaotically, and I stared at the floor, emptying myself of emotion. _Don't cry. Don't show it._ "IS SHE TURNING YOU INTO A FUCKING DYKE?"

"Don't." The single word came to my lips in a flurry of anger. For a second, I was brave and angry and as deadly as they come. "Don't talk about her like that."

"You think you're smart?" A giggle "You think you're funny, huh? I'll show you, I'll show you what God wants for people like you. There is no such thing as a lesbian Santana. You just need a little straightening out. Showing the right direction." As he spoke he moved his hands to grasp my wrists, pinning them down. My heart thundered against my chest. What was he talking about? I regretted my words instantaneously. He let go of one of my wrists and moved so as to unbuckle his pants.

"No." I said so quietly I could barely even hear myself. Horror rose in me, terrifying and immobilising. The slap across my face crystallised his plans for me.

I was pinned against the wall as he kicked the door shut. I was on my bed as I heard my panties rip. I was outside myself and everywhere and exploding. I tried to fight, my hands coming up weakly to push him off. "No" "Don't" "Please" I said the words over and over in different combinations like a chant. Telling him. Asking him. Begging him until his lips crushed on to mine and swallowed my voice. I knew I must be screaming. I knew I must be crying. I knew I must be dying. Between my legs ached. Everything ached. The corners of my mind turned in on themselves and I was sobbing and lying abandoned on my bed. In _my home_. Where I was supposed to be safe - but there was no one here to protect me. He worked himself over me, grunting and heaving and shuddering to a stop. I felt enormous, as if I were inhabiting the air and the night and the darkness that surrounded me. I remember thinking how crisp and clean my sheets smelled. How down the stairs, I could still hear the flickering TV. I imagined the colours dancing on the dark walls, illuminating the pallid face of my mother, and the throw pillows of my childhood.

Before he left he stood in the doorway and lowered his voice, "Don't tell your mother, she'd be heartbroken to think you'd lied to her."

I felt dirty. I felt disgusted at myself. My body was covered in new bruises – on my wrists and my neck and my breasts. Blood had dried thickly between my thighs and when washed away revealed a myriad of purple and blue. Something inside me felt ripped and raw. I hurt in places and ways I didn't even know existed. I choked on my fear. I stood under the spray of water from the shower for what felt like hours, tears mingling with the water. I felt cheated and broken. He had taken something from me that I could never regain. _Someone Special._ I let out a bark of a laugh and covered my mouth desperately to choke the noise as it turned in to a sob. I thought of Brittany the way she had been beneath the canopy of hospital sheets. I thought of innocence and beauty and all that she was.

When I extracted myself from the shower that morning, I stared myself down in the bathroom mirror. Then I went in to my room and put on that damn red Cheerios uniform and I went to High School. Because that is what I was supposed to do.


	6. The Desert

**AN: Thankyou to everyone who's reading this and especially to those who reviewed the last chapter. I feel like this is a bit of a filler chapter but it's necessary I think.**

It's remarkable really – the person you can be when others are watching. Despite the fact that all I really wanted to do that first day of high school was curl in to a ball and cry, I didn't. I walked tall, shoulders back, pretending to be the same girl I had been the day before. I didn't want anyone to see me for what I really was now. Dirty, broken and worthless. I didn't want Puck to see me as soiled. For Quinn to berate me for losing control of the situation. I didn't want Brittany to look me in the eye.

I pulled my locker information from my rucksack and headed off to find it, moving through the see of taller students, feeling small, childlike and vulnerable despite my appearance. I opened it up and stared vaguely inside, taking in the crap that someone had left there._ I thought they were supposed to clean these things out._ As I reached in and yanked at a piece of paper sticking out of the AP textbooks, I felt a ruffle of air beside me and a hand at my back.

The touch was like an electric shock. Letting out a yelp, I swallowed the nausea it sparked in my stomach and blocked the hulking image roused in my brain.

"Hey," said Brittany, flashing me a smile as I rubbed my head on the spot where I'd knocked it on my locker as I careered backwards. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," I replied my voice cracking a little. It hurt to lie to her. I knew I should trust her, but everything I was, was grounded in control and distance. She was the only person who held parts of me in the palm of her hand. The only one I'd let in enough to think she'd care. Everyone else, I'd kept them at a distance so that when they saw me for what I really was, it would hurt less when they left. I couldn't tell her. I couldn't bear to see her turn away from me. I missed her even though she was standing right there.

Her blue eyes surveyed me, I felt as though I was being x-rayed.

"Really Britt, I'm good," I insisted.

"What happened last night, after I left?" She countered.

I couldn't tell her. I physically couldn't. I felt the words clogging at the bottom of my throat and choking me. If I said it here and now in the light of day, it would make it real. I turned back to my locker for something to do.

"Nothing." I said blankly into the darkness.

"Well obviously something did," she pressed. "San, Kyle was scary, and you look sad. Just tell-"

"Britt." I interrupted harshly, "can you just drop it? I'm _fine_" I held my hand out for her locker combo and she handed over the slip of paper she was holding looking like a kid when you take its favourite toy away. I swallowed the regret, my nerves were grinding on the surface today.

Thankfully at that moment Quinn waltzed around the corner, chatting amicably with Puck as she walked.

"This one," I tapped the metal of a locker two doors down from my own, indicating Brittany's locker for her. She brightened instantly.

"Look what I got," she said pulling a picture from her pocket and showing it to me. It was of us from 3 summers before, dressed in miniature cheerleading uniforms and swinging her little sister between us. "It's for my locker, you like it?"

I smiled, the action felt painful, and nodded vaguely. Puck slammed his hand down on to my shoulder, making me jump for the second time that morning.

"Jesus Puck," I intoned. I shrugged his hand off my shoulder where it felt like it was too big. My skin was crawling.

"Take a chill pill," he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders instead. _Jesus could he not get off me_? I took agitated breaths, far too aware of the weight of his arm across my back. "Cute picture Brittany." He said nodding towards the photo.

"Yeah, you two make a cute couple," smirked Quinn. Her platinum hair was tied up in a regulation high pony and she was wearing bright pink lipstick. She looked like everything I had wanted to be on this day.

She looked deviously at Puck as she said it.

"What?" I asked, cottoning on to what she'd said. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," she shook her head and grinned.

By this time I was feeling distinctly peeved. Quinn was making some weird allusion to me and Brittany and Pucks arm felt like lead grating against my skin. He moved to ruffle my hair playfully and I ducked out from under his arm practically growling.

"For christ's sake Puck would you get off me?" My voice rose in to a whine at the end of the sentence, "I can't breathe with you all over me like that."

"Woah little girl, what did I do wrong? Freakin' women." He cursed, glaring at me.

I glared back. Okay, so he didn't do anything wrong. I just couldn't stand the feeling of him on my skin any more.

"Scram Puck. We need girl time." Quinn threw towards him.

We watched as Puck sauntered down the hallway.

"Who pissed in your cornflakes?" Quinn questioned.

"Santana doesn't eat cornflakes." Brittany corrected, while I stared determinedly at the floor avoiding her gaze.

"Whatever." Quinn folded against the lockers. She let out an almost dreamy sigh and I couldn't help but role my eyes. Normality felt great. "Can you believe it? Can you believe we're really here?" She said dreamily, "High school." She lifted her hands up to indicate the halls in front of us.

"I don't know," mused Brittany, turning to lean back on the lockers herself, "looks the same to me."

I turned to survey the scene in front of us.

"You know Britt, Qs right. This is it." I felt a thrill of trepidation despite myself. Here, I could be anything I wanted to be.

As the bell rang overhead, Quinn pushed off of the lockers and Britt and I fell automatically in to step behind her. As we walked Brittany reached her hand out for my pinky. My heart beat in my mouth. I stopped us in the middle of the hall, and the crowd parted around us like a sea. I looked down at her outstretched hand as I spoke.

"Britt, about last night. We can't do that. You can't do that. No more holding hands, no more snuggling at sleep overs okay? We're adults now, we have to stop acting like little kids." The words tumbled from my mouth before I knew what I was saying, tears coated my throat. I didn't even know why I was saying it. All I knew was that I couldn't feel more skin against my own, even if it was hers. All I knew was that the place where my soul was raw was that way because I'd held hands with her.

"San," her voice sounded as raw as I felt, "_what happened?"_

I shook my head, my lips pursed, and turned to disappear in to the crowd.

* * *

Somehow, I made it through the day. I made sure to keep my distance from Brittany and from Puck and well, from everyone. I made it through my first cheerios session, my thighs aching in an abstract way and when it was over, I made my way to the Lima Bean alone. I didn't want to be with anyone, I didn't want to do anything and I didn't want to go back to my room. I couldn't bear the thought of the blood stained sheets that awaited me. As I sipped at my coffee, doodling a pattern in the margin of a new notebook I tried to reason with myself: _It's better to keep Brittany away, safer for everyone. _But she's not happy._ Why does she always get to be the happy one? I always get the crap to deal with._ She doesn't deserve it, she's your best friend. You should tell her. _I can't, Jesus Christ what am I doing? I'm going insane. Talking to myself…_

I shut my thoughts down and doodled absently again until one of the barristers came over to tell me it was closing time. As I wandered home, my feet dragging a little more with every step, a wave of dread came over me. What if it happened again? Fear clogged my throat as I pushed open the front door. I moved silently up the stairs and into my bedroom, closing the door quickly behind me, my heart yammering in my chest. The room was as I'd left it, cold and empty in the fading light. I changed the bed sheets, then jimmied the door shut with pennies. It wasn't exactly fool proof but it was the best I could think of. That night I lay in my bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, jumping every time I heard a noise. Eventually I heard what I knew must be Kyle climbing the stairs, I heard him pause at the top. Tears squeezed from the corners of my eyes, a scream built at the base of my throat. And then his feet padded away. Choked sobs ripped from me. I fell in to silent hysteria until I managed to calm myself, commanding myself not to cry. I fell in to an uneasy sleep, exhausted in my turmoil.

* * *

For the next few weeks I existed as a ghost in my home and a fake at school. It was almost as if I was suffering from dual personality disorder. I would spend lunch times and free periods laughing at the goofy jokes Finn told, and bitching with Quinn about a girl in our grade named Rachel Berry who'd come from another middle school and was a total dork. After school I'd go to Cheerios. The exercise kept me sane; Brittany had taught me over the years that the simple 1,2,3,4 of running was much more than that. I felt almost alive then, my pulse thundering under my skin and music pounding in my ears. Afterwards I'd take to the track by myself and run until it got dark. Or I'd go to Quinn's place and eat a homemade dinner served to me grudgingly by Mrs Fabray. As darkness fell I'd make my way home and creep up the stairs, jimmy my door with pennies, and with a scream ready in my throat, fall in to an uneasy sleep.

All the while I'd avoid both Puck and Brittany torn in my desire to remain safe and to make Brittany happy. Whenever we spoke, it seemed like there was too much light between us. I felt like I'd made an irrevocable mistake, losing her was too much for the moment. If I had felt lost after what Kyle had done, I now felt as though I was looking in to an abyss with no way forward. Our conversations went from strained to non-existent. In classes I'd partner with Quinn to avoid having to look Brittany in the eye. Her presence was simultaneously too big and too small. I was deftly aware of wherever she was, whatever she was doing, but not once did I make a move to speak to her. All our interactions were a result of her desires and I'd usually attempt to end the conversation quickly in order to avoid the questions I knew were coming.

Puck on the other hand had gone from a mildly annoying muse to a serious problem. I had no desire to be with him, but I felt pressured to make it work. Where before I had been apathetic to him, I now squirmed under his heavy touch. I avoided any dates he suggested, citing Cheerios practice as an excuse. One day Puck sought me out between classes. He cleared his throat as I shoved papers in to my rucksack.

"What?" I said irritably.

"Well hello to you too," he said sarcastically. I paused from shuffling my books to glare at him.

"What do you want Noah?"

He wandered around me and propped himself up on the lockers, leaning over me and blocking out the light. I felt immediately claustrophobic.

"Listen, are you gonna get over whatever girl crap you've got going on anytime soon? Only I've got other prospects babe..."

"Wait – what?" I asked again, confused.

"I'm just saying, a guy's gotta get it somewhere." He smirked at me.

I reached back for my locker door and slammed it harder than I'd meant too. So maybe I'd thought he gave a damn about me. Maybe I'd thought he might actually care what my 'girl crap' was, but apparently not.

"You know what Puck, do whatever the hell you want. I don't care." I snapped turning to stalk away.

"Right," He stammered, putting a hand out to catch me before I left, "So this is, I mean, you're breaking up with me right?"

"Yes Puck," I said practically hysterical, "I'm breaking up with you."

As I turned again tears sprung to my eyes. I told myself I didn't care that I didn't want him, or need him. And I didn't, not like that. I needed him like he used to be, as my friend. Deciding Spanish was a terrible idea, I wound my way through the see of students to the locker room and then out on to the school field. I dumped my bag on the bleachers and pulled my iPod from it, blasting music as I pounded my way to the track. _1, 2, 3, 4. _I breathed in and out to the rhythm of the music. _1, 2, 3, 4. _A slick sweat broke over my body. _1, 2, 3, 4. _I imagined running in to the distance until I was a speck on the horizon, never to return. What would become of me? _1, 2, 3, 4. _My muscles were beginning to groan under the strain and the heat. The pain was pleasant. A reminder of the fact I was merely human. 17 laps later, I fell exhausted on to the hot rubber, and closed my eyes against the glaring sun, taking deep shaky breaths to steady myself. Eventually I became aware of a presence somewhere above me, a shadow that blocked the sun. I prised my eyes open.

"Oh. It's you." Brittany stood above me, her hair as golden as the sun. Seeing her there made me want to cry. Selfishly, I wanted her back. I wanted to cry on her shoulder. I cleared my throat to stop from crying and patted the track beside me. "Sit." I commanded.

We sat in silence for a few seconds. The distance she left between us felt too big. I couldn't help it as tears slipped down my cheeks.

"I miss you." She said eventually.

"Puck broke up with me." I replied.

She turned her head to look at me properly, "I wish you'd tell me what's wrong. But I know you won't. We can talk about Puck if you want."

I shook my head and bit my lip, the tears coming faster now.

"I miss you too." I said, heaving, my voice distorted by the sobs. I suddenly realised how exhausted I was, my skin stretched over my emotions so tight I thought it might snap. The strain of the past few weeks worked up inside me like a champagne bottle about to pop. Looking slightly bewildered, Brittany drew me into her arms. I curled up, so much smaller than she was and tucked my head beneath the crook of her chin. My sobs shook her body along with mine.

"I'm sorry," I choked irrationally. "I'm so sorry Brittany."

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay San," she murmured in my ear, "you don't have to be sorry."

We rocked like this for a while, a tangle of limbs, her stroking my hair comfortingly until I hiccupped myself into silence. I pulled my sticky face away from her neck to look in to her eyes, breathing in the scent of her and trying to imprint this moment in my mind. The blue sky stretched endlessly behind her head.

"Can we just go back?" I asked desperately.

"Yeah, that would be good."

For the rest of the day, we cut class and lay on our backs on the field, tracing pictures from the clouds in the sky. I faded in and out of consciousness, sleeping easily for the first time in weeks, my head pillowed in Brittany's lap. At 3pm we got up and joined the departing Cheerios Squad, still fearing Coach Sylvester too much to risk skipping a practice session. As we stretched out at the end of practice, Brittany grinning goofily at me, Quinn crept up behind me.

"Glad to see you two kissed and made up."

A blush crept over my face before I could stop it.

"Would you stop that?" I asked with a trace of annoyance.

"Stop what?" she asked smiling innocently. "I heard you broke up with Puck."

"Well done Sherlock Holmes."

"Elementary dear Watson," she replied and I let out a grudging laugh, "Puck's been pissed at you for weeks."

"Yep," I nodded.

"He's a good guy, you should have talked to him more about it."

"All Puck cares about is sex. Besides if you think he's such a good guy, maybe you should go out with him yourself."

At that moment, Brittany launched herself at me from behind wrapping her arms around my waist, and knocking us off balance. I grinned unabashedly before extracting myself from her arms. Her touch was different to Pucks, somehow softer and more reassuring at the same time.

"Hey Q!" She exclaimed happily. Our day on the field had put her on cloud nine.

"Hi Brittany, I see you're feeling better." Guilt engulfed me. While I'd been wandering around feeling sorry for myself, Brittany had been – what? Crying her eyes out?

"Yesyesyes," she trilled, "Santana's coming to mine for dinner." She said proudly.

"Good to know," Said Quinn nodding, "I think if you came to mine one more time my mother was gonna send you to the soup kitchen instead."

"GOLDILOCKS, GOLDILOCKS AND FEMALE WOOLVERINE." The three of us jumped at the sound of Coach Sylvester's megaphone. "IF YOU DON'T HIT THE SHOWERS RIGHT NOW, I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU RUN MORE AND THEN YOU'LL BE EVEN MORE SWEATY AND GROSS."

* * *

That night I ate dinner at Brittany's place. And the night after and the night after that. I slept in her bed, her limbs wrapped around me, keeping me safe from my demons. She was my guardian angel. I was conscious that if I spent too much time at Brittany's my presence in my own home would be noted, so I made a concerted effort to return home at some point every day, but only when I knew my mother would be home. I saw him in the light of day again. We ate dinner at the same table. We watched sitcoms on the same T.V. I would be careful to do my homework at the kitchen table, or on the front porch. And then I would escape to Brittany's. One day I came home to find my Mom sitting at the kitchen table, balancing her check book. I could hear Kyle in the living room, hooting with laughter at something or other.

"Your Dad called." Said my mom.

"Okay," I replied and headed out in to the hall to call him back. I had a phone in my room too but I didn't want to go up there. After three rings he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi Papi, it's me." I announced.

"Hey Pumpkin," I could hear the smile in his voice, "What's up?"

"Not much, I just got back from Cheer practice."

"Cool. How's it going?"

"Pretty good, we have sectionals in a few week weeks. Did you want to talk about something? Only I have to leave soon..." In the kitchen I could see my mother beginning to pack away her files, and felt a flutter of panic in my stomach.

"Umm yeah, actually I… I met someone mija. Her name is Addison. I didn't want to tell you until I was sure, but, well, I asked her to marry me and she said yes!"

I skipped a single beat, "That's great Papi." I meant it. Kind of.

"I want you to come up here for the wedding. We were thinking maybe in spring break? Then you'd be here for your birthday too."

"Can Brittany come?" I didn't want to imagine going anywhere without her at the moment.

"Sure," he said with a slight laugh.

"Okay, yeah sounds awesome. Congratulations Papi!" My Mom was collecting her keys from a bowl by the door, "Listen, I have to go, but that's great, really great."

"Thanks mija, I can't wait for you to meet her."

"Yeah me too, anyway I really have to get going."

"Okay, okay. I'll see you later baby. I love you."

"Yeah you too. Bye Papi."

"Bye."

* * *

That evening, sitting with her little sister propped between my legs, I told Brittany about 'Addison' the woman who would become my new mother. She had a million questions, ones I'd never even thought to ask: _what colour is her hair? Does she have a job? How big was the diamond? Do you think you'll like her? _As we lay spooned in her bed that night I thought about the mystical being that had entered my life. I was happy for my father I truly was. He worked hard and he deserved something good. But I was scared too. Scared that I wouldn't like her and that my father would always choose her over me, as people had a habit of doing. I was scared that even if I liked her, they would go on to produce a family that didn't include me. That I'd be eeked out and forgotten about. It wasn't like my father and I had the most amazing relationship. He wouldn't miss me if I was gone. Even in Brittany's arms I felt lost and lonely. I knew I couldn't stay there forever. Every evening I spent there I was an imposter in her home. I was intruding on the happy family life they lived here with my sorrow. I couldn't return home, nor could I live at Brittany's. My family was gone, scattered to the winds and I was left standing alone in the desert. I had no idea what to do.

"San?" I jumped a little, not having realised Brittany was even awake. Her voice was thick with sleep.

"Yeah?"

"Stop worrying," she stroked my hair away from my neck, "go to sleep."

And even though it wouldn't solve anything, I did.


	7. Things I Knew

"Santana." The voice called out from the kitchen as I passed the open doorway. I was making one of my _show your face at home_ trips when my mother decided that now would be a good time to give a damn.

"Yeah?" I called, one foot already on the stairs.

"Can you come in here a minute? I want to talk to you."

My mother sat alone at the kitchen table, her hands curled around a cup of coffee. She took it black, with no cream or sugar. The first time she'd let me try it I had balked, spitting at the bitter flavour. I had found Papi's much more agreeable.

"What is it?"

"Sit down a second."

She waited while I pulled a chair from the table and sat.

"I haven't seen much of you lately."

Apparently my absences hadn't gone unnoticed then.

"I've been busy."

"Too busy to sleep? You haven't slept in your bed for weeks."

I shrugged evasively.

"I want you to stay here tonight. No going back out, do you hear me?"

"Is Kyle here?"

"Of course he is. He lives here. Santana why can't you just do as I ask?"

I reached for the jug of coffee and poured myself a cup.

"I guess I can stay here tonight." I nodded, trying to convince myself this was a good idea although I didn't see how I was going to be able to sleep.

"Good."

As I sipped at my coffee she observed me with half closed eyes, her face blank. Kyle appeared behind her in the doorway and an involuntary shudder ran through me.

"I put a lock on her door," he said to my mother.

He put a what? Why would I need a lock? Had my mother asked him to do this? Did she know what had happened between the two of us?

"Thank you," she said to him. "It's for if your friends come over. Kyle said he accidentally walked in on one of them changing the other week. But still, no boys upstairs Santana."

I nodded. True to her word there was a simple bolt lock on my bedroom door. With some trepidation I had flicked the thing back and forth, testing the door handle to see how much strength it would take to break it. More than I had. I wondered when Kyle had spun this lie to my mother. What he had said and why he had said it? Had she called him out on something? Or had he taken matters into his own hands and spoken only to protect himself from incrimination? Either way it mattered little. Before I got in to bed that night I pulled the bolt across, feeling marginally safer for it's presence.

That night, lying in my bed I allowed myself to process what had happened over the past two months. Brittany's arms had been my safe haven, but they were stifling in their warmth and love. Wrapped in them, the horrors I had been through had been too easy to ignore. The guilt I felt at being there simple enough to put aside. Now, my thoughts came to me with a startling clarity, like the first rays of sun interrupting a deep and peaceful sleep.

My mind began unravelling from the night Brittany danced with me. I dwelled, surprisingly, not on what came after but on how I'd felt in that moment, her arms circled around me, a new feeling waking inside me for the first time. Brittany and I had danced before, but never like that. Usually she'd help me out, taking the lead for tangos or waltzes I was learning as part of the dance classes I still took. The dancing was more about precision and technique than it was feeling, although I did not want to admit to myself that feeling was involved that night. I thought about Quinn, mocking me with her idea that Brittany and I were… Were what? What was she getting at? I couldn't fathom her. She encouraged me to get back together with Puck at the same time as implying Brittany was more to me than a friend. And it was true. She was. I couldn't have imagined my life without Brittany. She was more than a friend. She was a constant. Something that simply was. Like oxygen or the moon.

Lying in bed, I denied myself the fact that this meant something. _There's no such thing as a lesbian. _The words rang in my ears. My skin crawled. I knew that this wasn't true. Of course there was such a thing as a lesbian, I mean Ellen DeGeneres is the funniest woman on TV and she has a wife. But me? The loops of thought wound together in my mind, turning me in circles. Brittany had danced with me and I'd felt like I'd never felt before. Not with Puck's hands roaming over my breasts or with the eyes of the cute check out boy from the mini-mart looking me over. The three weeks I'd asked Brittany to stop touching me had made me feel like my skin was rough with blood and scars. I'd needed her touch to rid myself of it. And when she'd smiled at me again, after I had sobbed uncontrollably into her arms, I had smiled back for the first time in weeks.

My mind ranged over the mountains of time back to the day Brittany had kissed me for the first time. It remained clear in my mind, as though even time itself couldn't erase the ghost of her on my skin. It felt as though that moment was the pinnacle of my life so far, everything that I was and would be revolving around it. No matter where I tried to direct my thoughts they always grounded here. With a cherry smile and ocean eyes.

I thought of the night. Not the thing itself. But the after. Lying defeated in this same position. Dirtied and sullied and filled with shame. I had cried. Rivers of tears blending their way into my hair and soaking in to my pillow. I had thought inexplicably of Brittany. Hating her for this. Blaming her for it. And myself too. Why had I let her in? Sometimes, when we were alone, not at her house but at school or at a coffee shop – we had a way of being alone with each other in public that was hard to explain – I'd get the feeling that Brittany was watching me. Waiting for me. I'd look up and see her surveying me with patience and soft, soft love. I knew how things would end up. I knew that she wanted things from me without her ever having to say it. Things that I could not give no matter how much I wanted to. The knowledge rose within me as I lay in bed, insurmountable and foreboding, but with a clarity I had never experienced before. It was like another fact of life: Brittany was for me.

But I couldn't accept this. Not then, with the knowledge that action meant punishment. Not with the shadow of a man leaning over me. I wanted, more than anything, more than Brittany, to be normal. To fill out a quiet and ordinary existence. I wanted to marry and have children and move away from here to an anonymous neighbourhood with houses that all looked the same and had shiny cars parked in shingle driveways. I felt this need desperately inside me. I called it self-preservation and later, cowardice. That's why I did it. The first time and all the times afterward. I did it because I was a coward, dreaming of town houses with pot plants.

It was a few weeks after I'd come back home that I slept with Puck.

We were going to a party to celebrate a Cheerios win at regionals thrown at the house of one of our team mates. Brittany was on cloud nine as she, Quinn and I prepped ourselves at her house. Even I felt vaguely good. It was good, to be good at something and to know it. It gave me a sense of purpose and worth. As I'd walked through her door earlier that evening she'd pulled me into a bone crushing hug.

"San, I can't believe we won." She'd squealed, her smile spreading from ear to ear.

"I know," I cooed back, extracting myself from her arms on auto. I'd still been trying to filter down the touching, as it only reinforced the ideas I had about Brittany and I couldn't deal with that if I was trying to be normal.

"You were amazing."

I shook my head in denial, "No, _you_ were amazing."

"Of course I was," She winked at me, turning to lead me up the stairs to her room. "Quinn's already here" she explained just as Hannah came and latched herself on to my legs. Brittany wrinkled her nose jealously as I leaned down. I had become somewhat of a favourite toy on the playground in Brittany's house over the past few years and I still found it slightly hilarious that Brittany could be so jealous of a five year old. I knew she loved her sister but the Pierce family and I had an affinity for each other that annoyed the hell out of her.

"Hey munchkin," I ruffled her hair, "what you up to?"

"Can we go to the park?" She asked, her blonde curls bouncing light around her shoulders. "I want one of my friends to come."

Brittany reached out to take my hand.

"Maybe some other day Hannah Banana, Britt and I are going to a party."

"Besides you have to go to bed soon," Brittany interjected, "or the monsters in your closet will eat you for being naughty."

"There's no such thing as monsters."

"Sure there is," I reply, wiggling my brows at Brittany over Hannah's head. "They creep, and crawl," behind her Brittany started descending the stairs she had already climbed, "and when you're least expecting it…"

At that moment Brittany propelled herself over the last two steps to land directly behind Hannah, emitting a roar as she did so. Hannah let out a yelp as I growled, "They get you," and launched myself at her too, careful to cushion both our falls with my own body. I raced my fingers over her sides, tickling until she was breathless with laughter.

"W- Wait," she eventually managed. Ripples of childish laughter tinkling in the air like bells. I ceased at her command. Brittany reached down and plucked her from me, where she was straddling my stomach.

"I think it's time for this little monster to go to bed."

Several protests later Brittany clicked the light off in Hannah's bedroom and closed the door, sealing her in to dream of castles stretched on clouds.

"You're really good with her," she commented, turning to me, as we headed down the corridor to her own room. I detected a trace of jealousy in her tone.

"Yeah, well. She loves me." I replied. It was true, Hannah had always liked me.

"You're very loveable."

"Where the hell have you guys been?" groaned Quinn as I pushed the door open. She was spooled on Brittany's bed flicking through a copy of Teen Vogue. I rolled my eyes on auto. You'd have thought she would have come looking for us if she was so bothered.

"We got waylaid," I said shortly.

She looked us over with a smirk, "I'll bet you did." What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Quinn's attitude of acting as if she knew more than the rest of us troubled me. She had an annoying intuition that set me on guard automatically, because her way of seeing wasn't the same as Brittany's way of seeing me. I thought that she would use any information about me to her own advantage regardless of whether it was something I'd told her or something she'd perceived. Quinn Fabray was ruthless like that. As we dressed and readied for the party I did my best not to let Quinn's comment get to me. Gossip flowed between the three of us as we went about our work. Brittany's hair into a fishtail plait. My nails painted a killer red. Quinn's eyes coated in smoky dark powder. As we completed the necessary pre-party actions we sipped on wine coolers so that by the time we changed I was feeling groggy enough to stare unabashedly at Brittany's creamy skin as she shimmied into skin tight black leather pants and a red shirt. My own outfit was a close fitted black dress with a see through insert at the top which encircled my shoulders. It was as I dabbed lip gloss on that Puck came up.

"Hey Brittany," Quinn had looked up from strapping herself in to some heels, "I heard that Johnny Falconer likes you."

If I was an animal, I probably would have snarled then. The overwhelming pang of jealousy was not easy to push away.

"He's cute I guess." The words floated to me as if from the other end of a tunnel. "But he's not my type."

"It's a shame, Finn and I need someone to double date with seeing as Santana screwed up with Puck. It is totally not fun hanging out with Finn by myself."

"Aren't you supposed to like your boyfriend?" I snapped somewhat defensively.

"He's there for the status, not the conversation. Would it kill you to get back with Puck already?"

"What?" I retorted, "He hates me. He's probably got the entire football team convinced I'm a psychotic bitch by now."

"That's not true," pouted Brittany, coming to drape her arms over my shoulders.

A brief silence then-

"Why'd you break up with him anyways?"

"It was more fun being friends with him than his girlfriend." This was true. I had liked Noah better back in grade school when we were pulling stupid pranks together. But since we'd broken up we'd barely spoken. It was as if by adding this third dimension to our friendship I'd somehow ruined it. I sighed. I missed him.

"But you barely even speak to him anymore," Quinn followed my train of thought.

"Yeah, well…" I huffed.

"You could talk to him," Brittany suggested, managing a small smile at me in the mirror. "He probably misses you too."

I nodded sadly. I didn't know if she were suggesting I talked to him about being friends or more than that, but really, I didn't care. She was right. If I missed Puck I should tell him so. And so it came that later that night in a house thudding with music and the lights turned low I approached Puck. I was standing with Brittany and Quinn at the drinks table, deftly stealing glances at Johnny Falconer, who Brittany was continuing to insist was not her type despite Quinn's best efforts to convince her otherwise, when I saw Puck slipping out of the patio doors into the garden.

It was nearly the end of October but still warm. The night had settled, bringing with it the last hazy smells of summer. Cut grass and chlorine water. The pines surrounding the house. The softened shriek of wood pigeons. My heels tapped on the decking as I approached him. He sat alone on the edge of the decking, staring over the back yard with his back to me. As I walked, he lit a cigarette, and smoke plumed around his head disappearing rapidly into the gathering dusk.

"Hi," I said, sitting down.

"Hey Lopez, what's up?"

"What are you doing out here alone?" I asked. Behind us, the house thumped with music. A bass beat vibrating through the air.

He shrugged then held his packet of cigarettes out to me. I took one and leant in close to him, inhaling as he lit the thing. We'd done this before. Before we dated and I had to act like a reasonable girlfriend who hated her boyfriend's bad habits. After three drags I dropped it to the floor, stubbing it out with my toe. I felt like I'd made a mistake coming out here.

"You used to be fun Lopez. What the fuck happened to you?"

"I don't know. I guess I changed."

I decided to take a risk.

"Remember that time we snuck into the middle school at the weekend and spiked all the water dispensers with your Mom's vodka?" It had been only a few weeks before I'd asked him out. One of our final, most daring pranks together.

He let out a startled laugh, "Yeah. The principal gave an entire assembly on it. Do you remember Finn's face when he tasted the stuff?"

I giggled. He'd looked like he'd been hit by a bus. "You should have seen Quinn when she found out it was us. She didn't speak to me for weeks."

"I'll bet."

I leant my head against his shoulder, getting lost in the memory. It felt good and sturdy.

"I swear Brittany was drunk that day." He said. Her name was like a dagger of reality in the moment.

I laughed nervously, "She still can't handle her liquor." My thought's drifted from this moment, back in to the house. What was Brittany doing now?

"I miss you."

There it was. The opportunity I'd been looking for. Puck's voice vibrated through his chest. I could hear the sound buzzing against my head as he spoke the words. I pulled back and looked at him searchingly, finding his dark eyes with my own. I imagined Brittany dancing with Johnny Falconer. The burn of her cool skin. The colour of her lips by torchlight. Without thinking, I leaned in and kissed Puck. His lips were rocks, rough and jagged, a mountain to climb, wilfully moulding my mouth to his desire. The kiss was deep and gentle. His chapped skin rubbing over mine. I leaned in closer, pressing myself to him. This felt good. My eyes were closed tight against the moonlight, my energies focused on the task at hand. I lifted myself over him, straddling his legs with my knees either side of him on the decking. His hands rose to my hips, pressing me down and holding me in place. I pulled back, my chest heaving, to look him in the eye. He looked lost. His eyes were dark with oblivion. Whatever he'd been out here alone for, it wasn't me, but that made this easier. When he tilted his head upwards to capture my lips again I let him. We crushed against each other in our need, our breath coming in gasps. He slid his hands over my body and into my hair, tangling it and pulling softly with his fingers. I held myself above him, breathing heavily into his mouth and when he came up for air, I kissed down his neck my hands pressed flat between us like a barrier. I slid them lower to his belt buckle, tugging gently. I raised my lips to his ears and whispered "Please" the word filled with a quiet desperation.

There was a pool house where the noise of the party dimmed to a vague hum in the background of my mind. My dress was brushed from my shoulders by rough and unfamiliar fingers. We were a tangle of limbs and breaths. Sighs and gasps. Our eyes closed tight against the world and one another. I topped, unable to face the position in which I had laid once before, doing all the work for little gain. And afterwards we laid together, not speaking, our minds firmly fixed not on the other, but on our own difficulties. Cradled against Puck's chest, the image I had tried so hard to banish of Brittany, danced behind my eyes. The heady rush of alcohol in my blood stream was dimming, shame and guilt running through my veins to replace it. Tears slipped silently from the corners of my eyes. It was small comfort, being with Puck in this way. Perhaps it was the right thing to do, the expected thing, but all I felt was broken. This not how it was supposed to be. Puck hadn't taken anything from me. I had given it. Willingly. I had not been cheated of anything but I felt as though I had. I had cheated myself of the things I wanted. Because I was damaged goods. Because it could never be. Because I was not brave or strong or any of the other things Brittany would need me to be. Because I couldn't, I just couldn't.

Feeling the dampness on his chest, Pucks voice rumbled out from underneath me.

"Lopez, are you ok?"

I sat up, pulling away from him and dragging the sheet to cradle around me. I nodded with my back to him, trying to get a cap on the hopelessness that was threatening to overcome me. Sobs wrenched their way from me, filling the room and I felt my cheeks colour in embarrassment. Shit. If Puck didn't think I was psycho before he was definitely going to now.

"Shit." He cursed, "Did I do something wrong? I'm gonna get Brittany."

He was grabbing his pants off the floor now, tugging on his shirt. My mind registered her name.

"No," I choked, knowing I couldn't let her see me like this. I couldn't let her know that this had happened, "No, Quinn."

He paused by the door, "Okay."

He might have been gone seconds, or minutes or a half hour, I don't know. I closed my eyes and sobbed recklessly. Painfully. Curling in on myself do nurse the ache of my heart beneath my ribs. I didn't even hear the door of the pool house opening again. It was only when she put her arms around me that I knew of her presence.

"Hey, hey," said Brittany, shushing me. I breathed in her scent, my mind reeling off a thousand moments before I could stop it. "It's okay. It's okay."

I quieted in her embrace, then broke out into renewed sobs because of her presence. I wished she wasn't here. Why hadn't Puck brought Quinn? I repeated this cycle a few times before pulling away from her. I noticed vaguely, through my haze of pain that the only thing separating us was the thin grey sheet I had pulled around me as I sat up. I ran my fingers beneath my eyes and over my cheeks, smushing the remaining liquid into my skin. I knew I must look a mess.

"I'm okay." I manage with a watery smile.

She reached over and tucked my hair behind my ears. "What happened, San?

I wanted to laugh. Sometimes Brittany was so naïve. I was lying naked in a bed, at a party, and Puck had come to get her. What else could have happened?

"I slept with Puck."

"Oh."

_Oh_

I watched features rearrange themselves unfathomably for a second.

"Was it okay?"

And here was the surprising thing. It had been okay. It hadn't been stars and fireworks, but it hadn't been horrible and grating and I hadn't wanted to stop at any point. In fact, I had barely noticed what was happening to me. It had been a rush. We were like the eclectic and opposite weather that, upon hitting the other, broke into a thunder storm. We were the minutes before the last of the water ran down the drains leaving streets that were damp and humid. But now I felt lousy. So I shook my head against Brittany, feeling the smooth curve of her collar bone against my cheek as I moved it.

"No."

"He was your first." I didn't know whether this was a statement of fact or a question. I began to cry again, tears slipping over my cheekbones. _No, no he wasn't. _

"I wanted…" I trail off unable to finish the sentence. She placed a hand on my cheek to brush away the tears that had settled there, turning my face up towards her in the process. The light was dim, her eyes sparkling from the only lamp that was lit in the room. My cheek burned beneath her touch, my skin threatening to burst in to flames. I was aware of our legs touching beneath the fabric of the sheet and of my vulnerability. I was aware that as Brittany looked at me, something stirred behind her eyes. A sadness of a kind. I rose carefully, closing the distance between us in two movements. The first a bob to almost her head. A hesitation, my hand on her neck now. And then together. Our lips together and it was like a fire had been lit inside me. _You. I wanted you. _It was exactly how I remembered it, but more. More desire. More calm. More certainty. "I wish it was you." "It should have been you." My murmurs was lost to her skin and her hair where I had moved to kiss along her jaw line. My lips ached with the pain of having her here. To this day, I don't know if she heard me. But she was moving away now. Her hand rose firmly to the spot where mine gripped her neck. My tears were mixing with another warmth and I realised she was crying too.

"San."

I tried again to close the distance, struggling to keep a hold on the sheet and reach my target at the same time.

"Santana, no, wait. Not like this."

I stopped, my passion burning out instantly, my tears coming faster now. A second of gasping and then I dropped my head to her shoulder. Together we cried. As always she was the strong one. Stroking my hair and my skin and laying me back gently on to the bed. Curling around me and whispering in my ear, Its okay, It'll be okay. I felt her tears in my hair too and this only strengthened my own pain. To know I was causing her this. We fell asleep, our hands knotted together at my waist, exhausted in our efforts. So much of love is loss, and that night I lost myself to Brittany. When we woke up in the morning I told her I was sorry, my voice sounding scratchy with the tears I had cried. She had nodded, though I'm not sure either of us knew what I was apologising for. For Puck? For crying? For trying to kiss her? For what I had yet to put us through? But I had made a statement. To myself if not to her. That if I'd had the choice, I would have chosen Brittany. If I could have turned back time and given the most precious parts of me to someone, it would have been her. I was hers and I always would be. For every turn of the earth, and every spin of the sun. For every time that light rose over the horizon. For all the years when age would slide past us with grace, changing our features with the light hands of time. We were inevitable, like the falling night stars across a desert sky. All I had to do was accept that. But I couldn't.


End file.
